Better the Devil You Know
by milk3002
Summary: As Defiance faces an unknown threat, Amanda and Stahma struggle against their fated attraction to each other. As Alliances fall apart, threatening Amanda, Nolan, and the rest of the town, Stahma must finally choose a side. Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1

**Better the Devil You Know**

**By Emery Fowles**

******Disclaimer: This all belongs to Syfy/Trion. Clearly, this story will strike out from the show and go its own way, seeing as how only one episode has aired at the time of this publishing. Despite that, I hope you still enjoy!**

**Chapter One**

The blinds in the window sliced the sunlight into neat horizontal lines, which radiated across Amanda Rosewater's office, signaling that morning had finally come. The sounds of Defiance would soon drift through the walls: rollers riding through gravel lanes, gates squeaking as they uncovered storefronts, mixed shouts of greeting and annoyance as the morning routine met the onslaught of time. Amanda's eyes followed a line of rigid sunlight to the credenza against the wall, where it illuminated a thin layer of dust. Who was in charge of cleaning the Mayor's office these days? She used to handle such mundane details before she acceped the post of Mayor from her mentor, Nicolette Riordan. Now, she saw how integral she had been in her old job as Chief of Staff; she had relied on own deputy, Ben, relentlessly in the four weeks she'd held the highest office in Defiance. Since Ben's death, she had been mired in much larger details. Still, the line of dust, the pile of unsigned paperwork sitting atop it, rattled her.

She stared down at her Hailer, which lay on her desk atop the scattered photos of the forty-one dead townspeople that had fought against the Volge. Many of them had fought before, in the battles of the Pale Wars, and eagerly suited up again to defend their town. Irithi, Indogene, Castithan: the principles of the Armistice had stayed with them, and they continued to live together, fight together, and die together. Amanda's thoughts had yet to morph into words, and the cursor of her Hailer blinked, waiting for her to begin her speech.

A soft knock at her door startled her, mainly because she was unused to hearing it. In the first month of her term, her door had been consistently open, a literal signifier of her open-door policy. But since the battle with the Volge a fortnight earlier, she'd kept her door closed, accepting visitors only from her new Lawmaker and the benefactors that helped keep the town running while she attempted to figure out just who had ordered the attack on her town. She averted her eyes from the strip of sunlight. Rarely did she see the sun rise and fall from her own home anymore. "Come in," she called.

Lana popped her head into the room, the hexagonal surface of her skin glowing even in the low morning light. "Good morning, Mayor," she said, once again ignoring Amanda's charge to simply call her by her given name. Nicolette had carried the title well, but Amanda didn't; it made her feel encased in a role that wasn't quite hers. "I just sent to you today's appointment schedule for your review." She held up a cup of coffee. "And I have this."

Lana had never understood the human obsession with the liquid drug that tasted more like tarsands than anything remotely edible, but for the past four years she had dutifully brought steaming cups of it into the office. First, for Mayor Riordan and now for Mayor Rosewater. Although she refused to drink it, she did enjoy the smell of it as it steamed up to her sense organs. She set the cup on the Mayor's desk.

"Thank you, Lana," Amanda said gratefully, taking a long sip of the hot liquid as she eyed the draft schedule that flicked across her tablet. "And thank you for leaving the morning open," she continued, glancing up at her. "I need these hours to round out my speech." She glanced quickly down at the mocking cursor on her hailer.

"Of course." Lana ran her fingers over the credenza, frowning at the smudge of dust that appeared on them. "I'll remind Hintofren that 'cleaning' the office doesn't just mean taking out the trash," she said with a shake of her head. Amanda studied her curiously for a moment before rounding her desk.

"Listen, Lana, I appreciate all you've done in the wake of Ben's... absence." She cleared her throat. "I need to fill his position. It would be a bit of a salary increase, but a lot more responsibility." She studied Lana's eyes, attempting to judge whether she should continue her offer, but Indogene eyes never gave much away, and she continued on a leap of faith. "Would you be interested?"

Lana was calm, but a spark of accomplishment flashed in her blue, lashless eyes. "I would very much appreciate the opportunity, Mayor. Should I allot time in your schedule for a proper interview?"

Amanda laughed. "I think we can dispense with the interview. I'd like you to start today as Chief of Staff." She shrugged. "Staff of two, at the moment, but we'll need to fill your position as Clerk as soon as we can."

Lana nodded. "Of course. Do you have a preference? Human, Castithan, Indogene..."

"Qualified."

"Easy enough," Lana said. "I'll put out a notice."

"Oh, Lana," Amanda called, halting her. "Do you mind calling over to Soothi's and seeing if my gray suit is ready to pick up?"

Lana frowned, not an uncommon expression in the Indogene, but one that generally meant something was indeed wrong. "I called yesterday, just to make sure I didn't need to pick anything up for today's memorial, but Soothi has nothing for you."

Amanda put a hand to her temple. "Shtako," she muttered. It had been awhile since she'd been home long enough to take notice of anything other than food and her bed. She checked the closet at the far end of her office, but was met only with her leather jacket and another belt holster. "It's at home." There was no time to book Soothi's for a tailored fitting, not when the memorials was slated to begin in less than two hours. "I have got to remember to buy more suits," she murmured.

"Did you want me to run by your house and pick up the suit?" Lana asked, attempting to be as helpful as possible, just as her predecessor had been.

Amanda frowned as she turned back to her desk. "No," she said, too quickly. She guarded her home with an intenseness that at times caught her off guard, as if it were a lair that she was intent on protecting from any prying eyes. "No," she repeated, this time her tone more relaxed. "I'll get someone else to do it." She took another sip of her coffee. "Thank you, Lana."

Lana nodded and turned. Amanda watched her leave, the caffeine already hitting her system, prickling her anxiety further into gear. "You can leave the door open, Lana," she said, only smiling when Lana looked at her, giving her an understanding nod.

* * *

Kenya's hailer rang beside her head, but it sounded tunneled and far away as it pulled her slowly out of a dream. It was a familiar dream, one that she was hesitant to leave, but the hard human chest underneath her head moved, pulling her the rest of the way into the stark reality of her bedroom. Nolan was already awake, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "What a god-awful ring," he admonished, raising himself to a sitting position as Kenya reached over and picked up the mobile, recognizing the nick-name that plastered itself across the front.

"Listen, Bee, I love you, but not this early in the morning." Kenya ran a hand along Nolan's thigh, brushing the short hair through her fingers as she tried to focus on the sound of her sister's voice. Nolan watched the path of her fingers, hoping they would continue their trek downward, but they stopped. "The gray one? When do you need it?" He heard her sigh, her black hair tickling his chest as she tossed it over her shoulder. "Fine, but I'm stealing breakfast from your place."

She tossed her phone back on the table beside the small bed and Nolan watched the small bumps of her spine move under her skin. "Whatever you have to do," he said, "I hope it doesn't require you leaving this bed for another fifteen minutes."

She looked up at him with a laugh, trailing her fingers lower. "Wow, fifteen minutes." She playfully slapped his stomach. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid it does."

"Oh no," Nolan tried, shaking his head. "Whoever this 'Bee' character is, you just tell him the Lawmaker said he'll have to wait."

Kenya smirked up at him. "Oh, but I do believe the Mayor trumps the Lawmaker in these parts. Especially since she pays your salary."

Nolan's smile fell, as did his enthusiasm for an early morning tryst. "That was Amanda?" He sighed, banging his head against the wall behind him. He watched Kenya climb out of the bed, pulling a robe over her lithe, pale figure. "Where's 'Bee' come from?"

Kenya ran her hands through her hair. "It's a nickname."

Clearly, she wasn't offering any more insight than that, and Nolan checked the timekeeper on his hailer. "It's barely past dawn," he said with a groan. "No offense, but does your sister ever make the time to get laid?"

Kenya tossed him an amused glance. "For the right woman, she does."

Nolan cocked his head as he let the new information sink in. "She and Nicolette weren't...?"

This time Kenya rolled her eyes, the amusement leaving her face. "Get out of my bed, prick, and get dressed," she said, tossing his pants at him. "Don't you have a memorial to prepare for, too?" She tossed him his shirt, but at least this time, she was gentle about it.

Nolan pulled the garment over his head. "I do." He watched her look through her closet, her back to him. "Aren't you coming? You were at the battle."

"I don't do memorials."

"You don't."

Her back stayed to him. "Everyone grieves in their own way." She finally turned to him, a dress in her hand and a glint in her eye. "I do my grieving at night."

Nolan looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn't, instead slipping on his pants and buckling his belt at his waist. "Up to you," he said, moving toward the door. "If you want, I can help you grieve again tomorrow night." Before she could respond, he slipped out with a grin, shutting the door behind him. He made his way down the back steps of Kenya's apartment and into a small alleyway that lead to the bustling morning street.

The Lawkeeper's building was nestled in the middle of town, which meant he didn't have a far walk. Hopefully, by the time he got to the apartment above his office, Irisa would still be asleep.

"Morning, Lawkeeper," a voice called as it passed by him, and Nolan turned and nodded, giving a quick salute. Luckily for him, he'd been able to prove himself in battle before taking the post as Lawkeeper. He hoped to stretch the respect he'd earned as far as he could. He'd seen enough frontier towns in his time, but Defiance wasn't like any of them. The town had found peace outside of the cookie-cutter arms deals and trade swaps that formed peace in other larger, bigger cities, and he liked the patch worked harmony that wove the races together. It was just like it was right after the armistice, when people banded together in order to survive in a new terraformed Earth that held surprises for everyone, Votan and Human alike. Something about this town seemed fated, as if he were meant to return to it. He hated the silliness of his fellow Humans at time, their obsession with figuring out the meaning of things. All he knew was his own tie to St. Louis. And for now, that was enough to keep him here.

He buzzed himself inside the main office of the Lawmaker precinct, which reminded him of the cop shows he used to watch as a kid: a couple of desks behind a small, chipped counter, with a small closet that served as a coffee station and a narrow hallway that lead to the station's one cell. He stopped short, surprised to see Tommy already seated at one of the desks. To his chagrin, Irisa was sitting behind Nolan's desk, her feet propped up on its surface, her journal in her lap. He had never read it, and didn't want to, seeing as how he mostly caught her scribbling furiously in its pages after he'd managed to screw something up. "Good morning," he said, overly cheerful.

Irisa wasn't amused, and set her large eyes on him. "You know, we have a crappy apartment upstairs," she stressed, pointing to the ceiling. "There's really no need for you to sleep at the NeedWant anymore."

Nolan accepted the dig, but he simply shook his head, grinning down at her. "At least she ain't married. Cut me some slack."

Nolan gave Irisa a pleading look, one that she had seen all too often in her two decades with him, but one that never failed to work. She rolled her eyes, returning them to the pages of her journal. She watched her father as he made his way to Tommy, patting his large hand on his deputy's shoulder. "How you doing, Lasalle?" he asked, and his concern surprised Irisa, although she had also wondered how Tommy was coping with Clancy's death. As much as her own father rattled her Irathient nerves, she didn't want to imagine the world without him. But, those were the thoughts she kept confined to her journal.

"Fine, sir," Tommy said quickly, seemingly just as surprised by the gesture as Irisa. "I wanted to write up a daily report and hand it over before you left for the memorial this morning. We got word that the Stasis Net is facing some difficulties in being repaired." He handed over a small computer tablet, which Nolan scrolled through, his face scrunched in concentration.

"We're going to need some ark tech to power this thing up again," he said. "How long if they're rebuilding from scratch?"

Tommy pointed casually to the computer. "It's there in the report, sir." He caught wind of the annoyance in his new boss' face, and continued quickly. "It could be two months before the shield is effective again."

"Shtako," Nolan muttered, tossing the tablet back to Tommy, who struggled to catch it, only barely landing it safely back on the desk. Defiance had the technology it needed, mostly, but not enough to treat it so casually. "That leaves us wide open for another attack," Nolan continued. "Which means we've got to know everything that happens in this town, you got it? If someone's having a relative visit from out of town, I want to know about it. If there's a fucking breakfast buffet happening at the hotel in the next over, I want to know about it. If the deadbugs are mating, I want to know about it. Intel is our best defense right now."

"You got it," Tommy said. "I can start making rounds this morning."

"Me, too," Irisa piped from the desk, eager to do something besides sit. After the adrenaline of battle, the past few days had been a stark bore.

Nolan raised a finger. "Uh uh. You're coming with me this morning."

"I don't want to sit and listen to another speech. Irathients aren't ones to sit around and listen to politicians."

Nolan rolled his eyes, but could tell that chastising her would only go so far. "You were a soldier in that battle," he reminded her. "This isn't about what the Irathi do or don't do. It's about what soldiers do." He swiped her feet off the desk and pointed his thumb up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the office. "Now put on something that won't embarrass me."

She rolled her eyes back at him, but rose from the desk. "Tommy, I'll join you on your rounds after the service," she called over her shoulder, giving him a backwards wave.

"Sure thing," Tommy replied. "Just ring my hailer..." he trailed off as he felt his boss' eyes on him. "Or don't..." he muttered under his breath.

"Listen," Nolan said, keeping his voice low. "Keep your rounds to the square for now. We'll hit up the Hollows later on together." He started toward the back steps, but turned. "Not that I don't think you can handle the Hollows, Deputy. I just want spoil some of the fun." He grinned before bounding up the stairs, intent on getting the town's mourning out of the way; who knew how soon they'd need to fight again.

* * *

Kenya waved at Lana, whose head was angled towards a computer screen, absorbed in her work. If it weren't for the blindingly white skin and the hairless head, the assistant would have reminded Kenya of the way Amanda used to lose herself in her work, requiring her to snap a finger in her face in order to get her attention.

"Laundry service!" Kenya called as she stepped into the Mayor's office. "Madame Mayor, your apparel has arrived." She draped the black suit across the credenza against the wall. Amanda dropped the hailer that she had been reciting into and rounded her desk, lifting the suit while brushing off a couple of dust balls on the back and giving her sister a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you so much," she gushed, closing her office door. "I didn't have time to get it because of this godawful speech."

Kenya bounded toward Amanda's desk and picked up the coffee cup that there, tipping it back, disappointed that it was empty. She thought about pouring herself a glass of the Scotch that sat in the corner, but imagined she should probably wait until the sun was higher in the sky before she began drinking. "Haven't you learned by now that you don't need a speech?" she said lightly. "What comes out of your mouth comes straight from that golden heart of yours. That's all you need."

Amanda shook her head. "What's going through my heart right now isn't the most inspiring of thoughts," she said. "I don't need to scare anyone."Kenya watched as Amanda maneuvered her arm out of its sling, tossing it on the couch that sat against a far wall. Amanda nodded toward the blinds. "Do you mind closing those?"

Kenya rolled her eyes, but heaved herself off of Amanda's desk towards the window. "Who in the world could possibly see you way up here?" she asked. "Some volcan birds, perhaps?" When she turned, she couldn't help but catch the burn marks that raked up Amanda's arm, covering it in a hardened scar tissue.

Amanda felt her sister's eyes on her, and knew the quiet that was her worry. "It's not as bad as it looks," she said lightly. She pulled the dark gray woven jacket over her shoulders, buttoning the small silver buttons as she turned around to face her. "How do I look?" she asked.

"Grieved."

"Good." Amanda walked into the small, narrow bathroom that Nicolette had wrangled to install in the office; it had taken over a year, with Amanda doing most of the wrangling with contractors. She turned to the mirror, pulling out her braid with her good hand and attempting to smooth her hair into something presentable.

Kenya moved toward her, now staring at both of their reflections as she took her sister's blonde hair in her hands. "Remember how you used to hate it when I asked to braid your hair?" she asked, combing the strands out into a soft waves.

Amanda laughed, glancing at her in the mirror. "Of course. But it was the only thing that would keep you quiet. Why do you think mom and dad never let me cut it short?" She watched Kenya's reflection closely, judging her small intake of breath, the fine line her lips became as she clenched them together. Over the years, they had each become more comfortable talking about their parents, but it was always the odd memory that brought out a grief so raw it was as if they had just died yesterday.

Kenya let out a small laugh, refusing to spiral into the sadness that inevitably came with such memories. "If they just would have sprung for a few more toys and gadgets, I wouldn't have had to content myself playing hairdresser all the time." She sighed as she pinned Amanda's hair into a small, neat bun, and pressed a kiss in the center of it. "Done. Now you look like a proper adult."

Amanda reached up, pressing a hand against it, voicing her gratitude before making her way back to her desk. Kenya made herself at home in one of the chairs that sat in front of the desk, crossing her legs. "How is your new Lawmaker doing on the job?" she asked casually. "Do you like him?"

Amanda didn't dwell on her sister's curiosity, although she knew Kenya well enough to know that the question stemmed from a place other than her general concern for the well-being of Defiance. "He's rash, unpredictable, and a live wire," Amanda replied, grabbing her hailer and scrolling through the messages that had popped up in the minutes she'd been away from it. "But, he's one of the Defiant Few, he's all we've got, and he lead us through battle. So, I'd say that he'll do." She raised her head, humoring her. "What do you think of him?"

Kenya gave nothing away. "I think he's got his hands full, lugging around an Irathient daughter in this town."

"Relations between Irathients and Castithans have remarkably improved in the last eight years," Amanda reminded her.

Kenya smirked. "Hey, I'm not the public, I'm just your sister. No need to go politically correct on me."

Amanda rolled her eyes. Her sister always had a way of bringing her down a peg or two, which in many ways, helped her keep both feet on the ground. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the memorial?" she asked.

"I'd rather not spend the afternoon watching the Tarrs and the McCawleys bawl it out over whose the bigger hero," she said. "Although, my money is on McCawley any day of the week."

Amanda honed in on her. "Why do you say that?" she pressed, a familiar tightening in her stomach. "The Tarrs have been very generous to this town and to this office. They're just as valuable as the McCawleys."

Kenya waved her hand in the air. "I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me about the importance of money changing hands," she said. "But, it's no secret that Datak Tarr runs shtako over in the Hollows. You can overlook that all you want, but the man is no Rafe McCawley." She paused, putting a finger against her lips as she thought. "Although it is cute, what his son and Christie have going." Her voice sung out dramatically. "The perils of inter-species love."

"I'm not well-versed on the gossip surrounding the Tarrs," Amanda said quickly, hoping that Kenya would change the subject.

"Well, you should be," Kenya replied, leaning forward and unwrapping a chocolate that sat in the small bowl on the table in front of her. She popped it in her mouth. "Did you know that Datak's wife, Stahma, was essentially royalty up in Daribo or wherever?" Amanda angled her head back to her desk, already feeling the flush creeping up her neck, but Kenya didn't cease her wondering. "She must hate it here."

Amanda pressed her hand against her desk, finally chancing a look at her sister. "Look, I don't know and I don't care about what the Tarrs did on their home fucking planet, Kenya, okay?" She sighed, regretting the heat in her voice, and took a small breath. "Nicolette trusted them. That's all that matters."

Kenya brushed off the outburst, more than aware that Amanda had more on her plate than she wanted at the moment. Still, the constant comparisons to Mayor Riordan always struck her harshly; Amanda had grown to trust the woman like a guardian rather than a mentor. "Mom used to say that the only thing you can trust is your own reflection."

"Well, Mom and Dad were wrong about more than a few things."

Kenya ripped up from her chair, balling the foil paper from her chocolate into a small ball and tossing it at Amanda as she leaned over the desk. "Don't say that about them," she said, her eyes as fiery as her lipsticked mouth.

Amanda handled the small foil ball, rolling it between her fingers. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly, shame overriding her guilt. Kenya straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've got everything under control, Kenya," she continued. "You don't have to worry." Kenya's eyes weakened, revealing the younger sister that Amanda had cared for on her own for over twenty years. They quickly recovered, once again steeling back to a harsh blue as Kenya backed away from the desk.

"I never worry," Kenya reminded her, the usual adage coming out as flippant as always. "I have you." She grinned as Amanda tossed the foil ball back at her and waved her out of the room. It was true; she never had to worry with her sister by her side, but the fire blast from the battle had shaken her resolve. It had been a long time since the two of them had fought to survive, but now Amanda had to worry about protecting more than just her younger sister; she had to protect Defiance.

* * *

Stahma smoothed her pale hair behind her shoulders, pulling the dark gray cloak over her head. She hated the dark colors of the human world, and preferred the usual white-colored clothing of her race, she gave Humans this small courtesy. She had learned over the years that Humans were all too quick to appreciate a common thread, anything that wove the various species together, and never more so than after a tragedy. She pulled her cloak further around her, the gray cloth stark against her pale hair.

Datak moved behind her, pinning a small Defiance emblem to his jacket."How does this look?" he asked, his voice as tight as his features. His ambition, which she had so loved over the years, had turned into a nervous energy that had tired his light eyes. "Is it straight?"

She reached up, turning it just a bit to the left, and nodded. Datak kept his eyes on his own reflection. "I have to play this exactly right," he reminded her. "The human death toll was higher than Votans. Which means McCawley will take the crowd. Five of his own miners were killed in the battle with the Volge."

Stahma turned to him, playing the role of responsible wife. "You fought alongside Rafe McCawley and his miners in that battle. This town recognizes you as a warrior, also, Datak. We lost fifteen of our fellow Votans; let's not forget that in the name of playing politics."He shook his head, a manner he had taken more and more with her over the past few weeks, as if she wouldn't understand his thoughts, or the complicated strategies that ran through his mind. She reached up, cradling his jaw, and felt it stiffen for a moment under her fingers before relaxing. "This isn't about winning or losing," she said. "It's about loss. Remember that."

"The ones we lost, my dear, aren't worth mourning. The only good they did was get me a seat on the Security Council."

Stahma pulled her hand away from her husband's cheek. "You mustn't take that attitude in public," she said, a hint of chastisement in her tone.

"Of course not," he said, inching behind her, wrapping a hand around her waist. "In public, I will mourn our valiant lower-caste Castithans who fought and gave up their worthless lives so that the races of Defiance could live together another day." His hand inched higher, delving inside her cloak. "You must remember, Stahma, we deserve to rule this town." His fingers caressed her, but they left none of the fire that they had years ago; instead, they trapped her against him. She smiled at him in the mirror, studying her own convincing reflection.

"It certainly won't help your image if we are late to the memorial," she said, coaxing his hands from her.

He took her hand, holding it hard in his own before he brought it to his lips. "Shall we go, then?" She followed him down the white stairs to the front hallway.

"Amsha!" Datak called, shaking his head as their servant's footsteps were heard from the back of the house. "Why are they never where they need to be?"

Stahma smiled, reaching for the door that held their cloaks, but Datak's hand caught hers, his eyes prideful and suspicious. "Have you forgotten your place?" he asked. "Wait for the servant."

Amsha hurried into the hallway and slipped into the small closet, returning with the long cloaks that they reserved for ceremonies. She held her head down, apologetic, as she handed them over. "Pardon me, sir," she offered weakly.

Datak snatched his cloak, pulling it over his shoulders, and Stahma gave Amsha a small, forgiving smile as she took her own, angling her head so that her husband wouldn't see the exchange. Even on her home planet, she had invoked the wrath of her mother and father for not strictly following caste protocol; it was a habit that had never come easily to her. She soon heard Alak's steps above her.

"I don't understand why I need to go to the Memorial," Alak said, plowing down the stairs in a pair of black sneakers. At least he had the coloring right, although he mostly dressed in darker colors now. Stahma allowed him this rebellion, among others, hoping that the room she gave him would keep him from turning against her. Alak was the last bit of gentleness she had in her life, and she wanted to preserve it as long as she could.

"As long as you live in my - " she hesitated as Datak looked back at her " - your father's home, you will do what needs to be done." She extended her hand toward him, and was grateful that he didn't shrug it off. The two stepped into the sunlight, and for a moment it was too bright for Stahma, and she closed her eyes to it. In the split second her eyes were closed, she saw the familiar image, the familiar stirring inside her. It was always the same figure, whether it came at night when she lay beside her husband or whether she shut her eyes for a moment against the daylight. The figure was always there: blond, warm, and strong.

Stahma exhaled, following her husband and son to the roller. She would sit beside her husband among the mourners, holding his hand as she listened to the grief play out across the town. It would be a somber occasion that would sear itself into the townspeople's psyche. But the only image that would burn itself once again in her mind, an image that would come to her in her dreams that night, would be Amanda Rosewater.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Half the fun is hearing from you guys - I appreciate your kind comments.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Nolan had driven thousands of miles over the terraformed earth, but the new landscape always surprised him. The flat grasses and green parks of his boyhood were still etched in his memory, even after all of the shifting and the hardening of the Earth. At times, he still felt that boy inside, despite the years that had roughened him.

"How do they bury their dead here?" Irisa asked, her head angled out the window of the Lawkeeper's roller. "They're clearly not having eight different memorials." She looked pointedly at him. "And if they are, I'm only going to this one."

Nolan kept his eyes on the road. "Don't know. Some kind of interfaith thing, you know I don't keep up with this kind of stuff."

Irisa nodded, returning her eyes to the passing hills of green grasses as they wound their way up a small embankment. Her father didn't stick to one place long enough to mourn, so she simply figured he never learned how to do it; and by extension, neither did she.

Nolan's hailer beeped in the middle console, and he punched a button, lighting up the speaker. "Yeah," he said, keeping his eyes on the road as he curved along another hill, this one strewn with rocks from a higher terraformed peak. They would have to park soon and walk the rest of the way to the cemetery.

"_We got a problem down at the Net,"_ a voice crackled over the line. Irisa perked up in her seat, straining to hear over the crunch of gravel underneath the roller's tires.

"What's the trouble?" Nolan asked, all too aware of his daughter's sudden interest.

"_Three Earth Republic dodgers are here, requesting entry. They say they've been sent by Ambassador Kagan in New York."_

Nolan tossed a glance out the window, where he could see the first of the plain white gravestones that marked the Cemetery of the Fallen. "I don't know a damn thing about that. Until I do, they're not getting in."

"_We'll hold them sir, but they're not happy about it."_

"They drove this far, they can wait it out. Give 'em a cup of coffee or something until I get there."

He heard the Indogene groan. "_Right. The human drug. Okay, boss."_ He punched the hailer off again, silencing its tone. He pulled off to the side of the road in a small, narrow shoulder, and pointed up at a small path where a crowd had already begun to gather. It wasn't just the families of the forty-one who died. This was a town who took care of its dead; there were easily three hundred people in the field surrounding the narrow white gravestones.

As the two walked, Nolan saw Amanda in the distance, next to a line of interfaith leaders, their various robes fluttering in the light breeze. "Shit," he murmured, only half joking. "Which of those is the human faith leader again?" He grinned down at Irisa, who shook her head at him, curiously ogling the Irathian healer, who stood at the edge of the group in a robe made of a rich, amber hyde. He noticed her, giving a small Irathient sign of peace, but she quickly looked away from him.

Nolan greeted the group of leaders politely, accepting their notes of grief and gratitude, statements that he had heard repeatedly during his time as a soldier. He nodded at each of them in turn before touching Amanda's arm. "Got a minute?"

Amanda gave him a terse smile, not keen on abandoning the faith leaders at such a moment, but she recognized the persistent look in Nolan's eye and quietly excused herself. Still aware of the leaders' eyes on her, she bent her head toward him with a fake smile. "What is it?"

"You know anything about E-Rep visitors coming to see us today?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her expression neutral, one of her best defenses so far as Mayor. "I've had some low-level trade conversations with an E-Rep, but nothing more than that."

It wasn't the answer Nolan wanted, but it was the one he expected. "Well, there's a battallion of them down at the Net. I've asked my guys to keep them there until we get down there."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "The last thing I need at an interfaith memorial service is a bunch of Earth Republic nonsense," she said. "Were they rangers or diplomats?"

Nolan pursed his lips. "Which of those would make your day worse?"

Amanda let out a grunted curse. "Rangers." She glanced at the still gathering crowd. "Listen, once we're done with the speeches, you head down and I'll join you soon after. I'd like the public to at least see that you're here. The face of justice is comforting to them."

"The face of justice," Nolan repeated. "You're really nailing the rhetoric these days, Mayor."

Amanda squinted up at him. "The face of justice also needs a shave." The brief attempt at humor was cut short as Lana approached the two of them, a clipboard in her hand.

"Excuse me, Mayor Rosewater, shall we begin?"

She and Nolan followed the faith leaders to a clearing in front of the crowd, each standing stoically behind a wooden podium as the Human priest lead with a prayer. Amanda bowed her head, participating in the ritual even though she got little comfort from it. She preferred the Irathient chants, where she could focus on nature, to the point where she eventually lost herself in it. As Mayor, she would make her rounds at various religious services, but it was when the races melded together in times of sorrow or of joy that reminded her what religion was supposed to do.

She exhaled deeply as one of the Votan leaders stood, reciting words of condolence in an ancient common language. She scanned the crowd, a calming mechanism she used before speaking to calm the hell bugs in her stomach. The ploy worked, her breath lengthening and calming, up until her eyes raked across the front row, where Stahma's laser-sharp eyes met her own. Amanda's stomach flipped violently and she averted her gaze, but her eyes followed not her own commands, but a magnetism that locked them back onto the pale Castithan. Amanda attempted to focus on the Irathient healer's words, but they were suddenly hard to hear, as muddled as if she were listening to them from beneath a murky lake.

"We must never forget the love that indelibly tied those that lost their lives to this town and to us. We are all of different species, different races. We have been taught how to fight, we have been taught how to hate, but we have taught ourselves how to love."

The Irathient's words, which normally would have rankled Stahma's Castithan formality, took on a new note as she kept her gaze on Amanda, taking note of the Mayor's now stiffened shoulders, which had been relaxed only a moment ago. Stahma should have taken pleasure in such an effect, but her attachment to Amanda had long ago defied her race's principles. When Amanda met her eyes again, as she knew they would, Stahma returned the smallest of smiles, born out of some need for a connection that she had sorely missed the past two months. Amanda's composure held, it always did, as solid as a piece of terraformed rock, but Stahma saw the flush in her cheeks that crept down to her neck and beneath the bandage that covered her chest.

"And now, we welcome the heart of Defiance, our leader and brave soldier, Mayor Amanda Rosewater."

Amanda's nerves fizzled as she shook hands with the healer, the expectation of the moment leaving bringing a new confidence in her. The late morning sun illuminated the hundreds of faces that peered up at her, some tearful, but all awaiting some sort of inspiration. "The forty-one men and women who died this past Monday," Amanda began, her voice floating over the grassy field, "gave up their lives for freedom. They died as heroes, and we will always remember them as such." A small boy stared up at her, and she recognized him as the son of one of the deceased; his human eyes were red and swollen.

"But, for some of you today," she continued, her tone softer, "it probably doesn't feel like that. For those of you that lost husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, mothers, and fathers, today feels just as empty as the day that you lost them. Many of us know what that emptiness feels like. I know what that emptiness feels like." Her voice shook and she gripped the podium. "The sun continues to rise before us, even though you feel like it shouldn't. And it will continue to fall. Our new Earth never ceases its motion. And that is what we must do. We must keep rising. We must keep fighting. And we must keep defending our home. And if we keep doing this, day after day, we will find meaning in these motions once again. Our loved ones that we lost in the Battle of Sissel Pass will find a new home inside of us. The brave men and women we lost, who believed enough in Defiance to risk their lives protecting it, lived together, they fought together, and they died together. And now they will rest here together."

She took a step away from the podium before placing her hand over her heart. Before she could raise her arm to the sky, or at least as much as her sling would allow, the crowd was on its feet mirroring her movement. "Defiance!" rolled over the cemetery in a concerted chorus. Amanda caught Nolan's eye as she turned, and he gave her a small wink and a salute. The calls of "Defiance" kept going, only fading once the crowd thinned, as families revisited the graves of the loved ones that they had buried throughout the week.

"You certainly know how to move a crowd," Nolan commended, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Well done."

She didn't reply, but only steeled her eyes as she looked up at him, squinting into the sun. "Listen, I need you to head to the Net. Escort the E-Reps to my office, and Lana and I will meet you there."

Her quick change of tone blindsided Nolan, and he once again found himself impressed by her toughness. "Wow, you really know how off the empathetic switch, don't you? You're a better politician than I pegged you for."

The light caught her hazel eyes as they flashed up at him. "That wasn't empathy. It was experience." Her eyes hit the ground. "I'll see you and the reps at my office."

Nolan nodded as she walked toward the crowd, saluting her once more. "Ay, Cap'n." As he turned, he caught sight of Rafe McCawley milling among his own miners who dotted the crowd.

As Rafe spotted him, he peeled away, placing his ever-present cowboy hat back on his head. "Morning, Nolan," he offered.

"Morning, McCawley."

"Heard through my scanner they asked for back-up at the Net. You know anything about that?"

"Now, what kind of Lawkeeper would I be if I didn't?" Nolan grinned, but his comment didn't get a hint of smile from the Rafe; if anything, it only deepened the fine frown lines running across his forehead. "How's the family holding up?"

Rafe didn't respond immediately, his eyes landing somewhere just behind Nolan. "They're making it."

"That's good," Nolan replied. "You know, Luke wasn't here to fight with us the other night, but he was a soldier in this battle all the same."

Rafe had worked alongside many a man in the mines, and tended to measure them by how they treated fellow men when they were down. Nolan seemed to come from the same stock, and the two stood in silence for a moment, respecting that bond. "Luke's room is untouched," he said slowly. "I haven't been inside it since the night of his death. If he knew something about why the Volge attacked, it's in that room."

Nolan knew that was all the permission he was going to get from Rafe to search his son's belongings, and he gave a respectful nod. "Thanks for the help, McCawley," he said. "That's no small thing."

"Let me know what's going on down there at the Net."

"Just keep a listen on that scanner," Nolan joked, clapping him on the shoulder once more as he stepped around him. "And remind me to look at it later to make sure that's standard regulation. If you'll excuse me, I need to locate my daughter. Fifteen years as a Tracker, and she's my biggest challenge."

Rafe chuckled, all too familiar with the challenges that teenage daughter posed. His smile faded as he turned back to the crowd, catching sight of his own daughter standing beside the son of Datak Tarr. The two smiled, hands barely touching as people milled about them. Nothing good had come to his son from hanging in Votan circles, and Rafe would be damned if he allowed his only daughter to succumb to the same fate. His anger was only deflated by the sound of Amanda's voice behind him.

"Rafe, I wanted to catch you before you left," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "How are you doing? How are Christie and Quentin?" Amanda's eyes had glowed with sincerity from the moment Rafe met her, years ago, and he got no less from her now as he gave her a convincing smile.

"They're doing," he replied, taking his hat in his hand. "Going through the motions, as you said. That's the only thing that gets me out of bed everyday, is my old routine and the mine."

"Rafe, I want to say again that I'm sorry. I've combed through Ben's records and am fully cooperating with Nolan to figure out why he would have done something like this." She kept her head angled toward him, blame settling her shoulders. "I'm so sorry I didn't see it before."

Rafe studied her, recalling the days she had scheduled his meetings with Mayor Riordan. Amanda held none of the carefully calibrated political calculation that her predecessor had used to forge peace between the races; instead, she simply believed in peace between the races. "Sometimes I think you're too good for this job," he told her.

The comment caught Amanda off-guard, but before she could respond, Rafe's expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he glanced behind her. She turned, her own jaw stiffening as Datak and Stahma came to stand beside them. "Datak," she offered politely, shaking his hand. "Stahma." She was both relieved and disappointed that Stahma didn't offer her hand, and quickly slipped back into a shelter of formality. "Thank you for being here. It means very much to the town that you grieve along with them."

Datak glanced briefly at Rafe. "It's times like these that the town must come together. Despite our differences."

Rafe was silent, and Amanda quickly filled the void. "I know that security is of upmost importance to both of you," she said briskly. "You can rest assured that Lawkeeper Nolan and I are working to repair the Stasis Net as quickly as possible. Until then we'll give you any necessary resources you need at the mine and at Tarr Industries."

"I imagine that the Council will stay appraised of the issue," Rafe said, knowing his words would burn Datak. Through his own profits, he had helped fund the campaign for the Castithan that beat his nemesis for a seat on the Council. It was a victory that was now years old, but Rafe still took some pleasure in it. The miner's endorsement was no small thing in a town like Defiance.

Stahma felt her husband's arm stiffen, but she stroked it, hoping to reign in any unhelpful outbursts. "I trust that you will do everything that you can to ensure the security of the town," he said slowly. "And, if I can be of any assistance in providing any extra equipment or fulfilling any additional needs, please don't hesitate to let me know. Tarr Industries is proud of its philanthropic efforts."

Rafe's eyes drifted back to the edge of the crowd, where Stahma knew her son and Christie still stood, hands entwined. "If you'll excuse," Rafe said finally. "I need to be with my family." He left, touching Amanda's elbow as he parted. "Take care of that battle injury, Mayor."

Datak's attention focused on Rafe as he slowly met Quentin at the edge of the crowd, and Stahma used the moment to her advantage, turning her attention to Amanda. "I don't recall Nicolette ever taking up arms in battle," she said. "You are quite the... what is the expression? Quite a Renaissance woman." Her attempt at conversation was only that, but Amanda shifted uncomfortably. She had never been as adept at their game as Stahma.

"I simply do what needs to be done."

"And you clearly do it well," Datak cut in, turning back to them. "Castithans take pride in valor. We couldn't have chosen a better Mayor. I do hope we will see you tomorrow evening," he continued. "The Collective appreciates you taking the time to meet with the Ambassador while he's visiting."

Amanda's eyes hardened, but only for a moment before she masked the hardness with a polite smile, and Stahma wished that her husband spent less time with the Votan Collective and more time getting to know the quirks of Humans. A memorial was not the time to talk politics. Humans did not excel at mixing emotions very well.

"Of course," Amanda replied. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Good day, Madame Mayor," Datak said, offering his hand as goodbye.

As he turned from them, Stahma grasped Amanda's hand, pleased when she didn't pull away. "Your words today were quite moving. If I were a human, I probably wouldn't have been able to keep my eyes dry." She rubbed her thumb over the back of Amanda's hand. "Although you've always had a way of moving people without even realizing it."

Amanda recalled that same caress from months earlier, when she had shared her past with Stahma over a bottle of wine at her own home, and now her regret manifested as a shameful blush. She removed her fingers from Stahma's grip, eyeing the emptying field as she cleared her throat, hoping to clear her head at the same time. The Castithans were masters at using their ethereal looks to their advantage, but none had ever affected Amanda as Stahma had. "You should probably rejoin your husband," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

The coolness of the remark wasn't lost on Stahma, and she nodded, her eyes following her husband and son. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening, Amanda." As she passed, her voice floated as a soft whisper against Amanda's neck. "I always look forward to seeing you."

Stahma continued, but her words prickled Amanda's skin, and she reached up and rubbed her neck, wiping away the memories that rose with like goosebumps along her skin.

* * *

Nolan sat with his feet propped on the conference table, a casualness that didn't seem to go over well with the Earth Republic rangers that stared back at him. They were young, fresh recruits from New York or Boston, and they played everything by the book, down to their crew cuts and rigid posture.

"More coffee?" Nolan offered, gesturing at the empty, mismatched mugs that sat in front of them. "If you guys would have given us notice, we probably could have secured something a bit stronger, but..." He shrugged.

"We're fine," the shorter one replied tersely, but his curiosity eventually got the best of him. "So you were one of the Defiant Few?" he asked, but grunted as his partner kicked him underneath the table.

"Wow, you guys really memorized your history lessons, didn't you?" Nolan asked. "Must have passed the Ranger Exam with flying colors." He grinned, giving them a break. "Yeah, Private First Class, 9th Mechanized Division."

"Not many of you guys are around anymore," the ranger returned, and cringed again as his partner booted him. "I mean, not in law enforcement or anything."

"We're not really the best at following laws," Nolan granted. "Or orders." The door opened and the third man in their group, an official Earth Republic representative returned to his vacated seat, dropping his Republic-issued hailer into his suit pocket. "Important call?" Nolan asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I was just phoning Mayor Rosewater's mobile," he answered tersely. "It's not like her to keep us waiting."

Nolan tossed his head. "Well, you kinda caught her on a bad day." He eyed the three of them. "But, I'm guessing you already know that. And, I'm guessing that's exactly why you're here."

The bureaucrat didn't reply, and instead clasped his hands in front of him, tapping his fingers against his knuckles. Nolan rolled his eyes, gesturing to the coffee mug that sat half-full in front of him. "More coffee?"

Amanda appeared no sooner than he made the offer, and the Earth Republic rep visibly relaxed as he stood, offering his hand to the her. "Mr. Baucus, I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Amanda offered, but Nolan didn't see a hint of apology in her hardened eyes. She shook each of the Rangers' hands before taking a seat, brushing Nolan's feet off the table as she did so, reprimanding him with a glower. "I've clearly wasted enough of your time," she began. "How about we dispense with formalities and get down to business?"

Baucus didn't hesitate; in his own right, he was just as formidable at playing politics as Amanda. "We heard about the attack by the Volge, and wanted to express our condolences for your losses and assure you that we are exploring our intelligence for any evidence that may help you in order to identify whoever was behind this attack."

"And once you come across any intelligence, what do you plan on doing with it?" Amanda asked. "We're not a part of the Republic's security alliance.

"That is exactly the point of this visit. With the Volge attack, Defiance is vulnerable. It is imperative that you take every measure possible to secure your town."

"And by that, you mean sign your Security pact."

Nolan leaned forward, raising his hand. "I don't mean to interrupt this episode of C-SPAN," he said. "But, what exactly are the tenets of the pact?"

Amanda stared squarely at Baucus. "Why don't you give him your version and then I'll give him mine."

Baucus took the challenge, pulling a packet out of his briefcase and sliding it over to Nolan. "The terms are in black and white. As a member of the Security Council of the Earth Republic, the town is granted access to Earth Military Coalition reserve troops and the expertise of Von Bach Industries. Which would come in handy considering the state of your currently very ineffective Stasis Net."

Amanda waited until he finished before launching into her own explanation of the agreement, one that Nicolette had repeatedly refused to sign. "In exchange for having an unprecedented permanent Earth Military Coalition presence in Defiance, which not be under the control or purview of our Council, we would pay a seven percent tax on all gulanite exported out of the town." She leaned forward, accenting her point. "We don't contract with mercenaries."

"If you're referring to the New York incident, The Earth Republic was in no way involved in any wrongdoing to Votan citizens in those New York attacks," Baucus reminded her. "Investigative reports concluded that those killings were homegrown."

"Which non-biased investigative report?" Amanda pressed. "The one with the Earth Republic's logo at the bottom?"

Baucus tilted his head at her. "Amanda - "

"Call me Mayor," she directed sharply.

Baucus sighed. "Mayor, I've met with you and your predecessor countless times regarding the importance of securing our frontier towns. Former Mayor Riordan viewed the ER as a combatant, but those were views honed by the frontier mentality. We've come beyond that now and we must collectively ensure that Human as well as Votan interests alike are cared for. We hoped you would come to that conclusion as well, now that you have taken the reigns." He leaned into her. "Defiance doesn't have to be a a simple frontier town. With a resource like the McCawley mines, you could build this into a major city. But not without the proper protection."

Amanda pushed her chair away from her desk, indicating that her part in the discussion was complete. "With all due respect Mr. Baucus, the people of Defiance have no interest in being another strategic front for the Earth Military Coalition. We appreciate any assistance in intelligence beyond our borders that you would like to give in exchange for our previously agreed upon trade measures."

"Do you even have any idea why the Volge attacked you?" Baucus asked.

"The Volge could have been working for any number of fuckwads who see profits in the mines," Nolan interrupted.

Amanda gave Nolan a pointed look, finessing her language a bit more than her Lawkeeper had. "As a frontier town, we've weathered threats to our borders before. Now, if you know something about the Volge attack that would help us, I would expect as a friendly government that you would share that information."

Baucus pursed his lips, glancing at the Rangers beside him. "We do not yet have any conclusive information," he admitted. "I'm only telling you this, _Mayor_, because we go back a number of years. What we do know is that no other frontier town with mining capabilities faced any similar invasions or attempts at attack. Only Defiance. If the Volge wanted gulanite, they would have made a concerted effort to lessen their risk of leaving empty-handed. They would have surely attacked other mines." He cleared his throat. "That is all that I'm prepared to leave you with at this time."

"Because that's all you know," Amanda replied defiantly.

"Well, I certainly see where the town gets its name." Baucus stood, extending his hand with a terse smile. "The Republic will continue to abide by our 2042 agreement. If you should desire any further security, we will broach the subject then."

Amanda stood, taking his hand, watching as Nolan did the same. She escorted Baucus to the door, nodding at each of the Rangers as they filed out of the room. She caught Baucus' arm, falling immediately into the old rapport they shared when they were both merely assistants to more powerful people. "Cut the shtako, Jake," she whispered. "Why is the ER so worried about Defiance?"

He leaned into her, his voice barely audible. "The ER found intelligence that suggests an unknown technology was aboard one of the early arks. We don't know which one, or where it ended up, and it seems likely that the Votans don't know, either. But people are looking like hell for it. We just want to cover our bases." He eyed Lana, who sat a few yards away, her pristine white head angled toward her desk. "Who would you rather have it - _us _or your precious Votans?"

She pointed a finger at his chest. "That attitude is exactly why Defiance has no need for the Earth Republic."

Baucus simply shook his head, leaving without a reply, his polished shoes echoing off the stairwell. Amanda smiled quickly at Lana before entering the conference room once more exhaling against the closed door.

"What do they know that we don't know?" Nolan asked, placing his feet back on the polished table.

Amanda pushed them off again. "They're searching for something. Which must mean it's valuable. Let's just hope we figure out what it is before they do, otherwise we will be a state of the Earth Republic."

"And how bad would that be?"

The question was insincere, but she gave him an answer anyway. "We'd lose everything that makes this town ours. Everything about it that made you stay."

He leaned back in his chair, his feet lifting once again to the table, but this time the move only got a chuckle out of her. "Touche," he agreed. "I don't like to follow rules." He waited for Amanda to push his feet off the table once more, but she was concentrating, a hand to her temple. "If it's not the mines," he asked, "then what is it?"

"Whatever it is, it has to be in the Old City."

Nolan looked curiously at her. "Old St. Louis? Before the Ark arrivals?" He hadn't known any of the Old City still existed. His memories of his childhood tugged at him, but he brushed them off. "Where are they?"

Amanda caught exploratory spark in his eye and grinned. "Come with me to my office, and I'll show you some of the old maps. I used to look at them as long as I could while cleaning the Mayor's office, so much so that I practically saw the Old City in my dreams." She pulled herself out of the memory, clearing her throat. "Clancy used to have some in his office, too, if you want to hail Tommy and ask him to grab them." She stood, finally pushing his feet off the table for the last time. "We're going to need Rafe's help to get inside. I'd rather not bother him about it today."

"You don't think Rafe needs a distraction?"

"I think he needs to grieve," she replied sadly. "The town needs to grieve." She looked back at Nolan, her eyes resolute. "But the two of us have work to do."

* * *

Irisa's legs dangled over the top of the freight container's roof, the breeze finally reaching her. The sun had disappeared over an hour ago, but the moon illuminated enough for her to watch as the town morphed from its mundane daily routine into its scuffling nightlife. Most of the people wandering the streets headed for the Hollows to the west of town. The door to the police building opened below her and Tommy exited, locking it behind him and heading in the same direction, most likely keeping an eye on things even though he was effectively off duty. Irisa wasn't sure where he lived, but as much time as she'd spent with him over the last week, she hadn't bothered to ask.

Although most people were heading west, Irisi was more curious about the eastern side of the town, where the Irathient farms stretched, divided into thin, neat rows. She knew hers was an agrarian race, built to hunt and farm, and had managed to acclimate to the new Earth by harvesting genetically modified root vegetables. She thought she remembered a farm from her childhood, but had never bothered bringing it up with Nolan. As painful as her past was for her, but it seemed even more painful for him.

She swung her legs back onto the roof of the freight and stood, stretching her arms over her head. Another night in the small apartment by herself, but she was getting used to the quiet. It was certainly nice to have a bed. Sometimes, though, she did miss her father's heavy boots tumbling off his feet, and the sound of his voice as he sang along with his music pod. She started to turn back to the small hole and narrow ladder that lead back inside their shabby flat, but her eye caught a glint of glass below. Nolan peered up at her, the moonlight more than enough to make out her figure atop the freight. He carried two bottles of beer and a brown sack of something that probably leaked of grease and fat.

"Stay put!" he called. "I'm coming up."

He was inside the building before Irisa could respond, and she only let herself smile when she heard his boots clanking on the metal floor of the freight. The brown paper bag flew up from the hole in the top of the roof, and her father followed, the two beer bottles gripped in one hand. He tossed her one.

"You didn't want to stay at the NeedWant?" she asked, filching the top off the bottle with her belt buckle.

Nolan did the same with his own. He had thought about Kenya after leaving Amanda's office, and had made it halfway to the NeedWant before changing his mind. Hopefully, there would be many more nights with Kenya, but tonight was one he didn't want to take for granted. "We've got an early day tomorrow." He frowned, the stress of the day tightening his shoulders, but she rolled his neck and took a sip of his beer. "The NeedWant will be there tomorrow," he replied with a grin. "Hopefully the women will be, too. Tonight, though, there's no place better than home."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Irisa teased.

He nodded, quieting as he gazed across the city, the moonlight smattering across rooftops. It looked nothing like the city he remembered, but it felt exactly right. "Yeah," he said, tossing the brown bag of food between them. "That's exactly what it is."

* * *

Kenya slipped into her sister's apartment, flipping on the lamp by the door. "Bee?" she called.

"In the kitchen!"

Kenya wove her way through the quaint living room tossing her purse next to a couple of mismatched pillows that rested on the worn couch. She dropped her keys onto the small end table that sat beside it, barely eyeing the photos that perched proudly on its neat surface. Photographs dotted the room, resting beside the old record player case that now served as a pot for an Irathient locti flower, hanging on the walls, stacked in photo albums. They were only of the two of them: Amanda and Kenya. They had been able to recover nothing from their childhood home when they fled, leaving them orphans without any reminders of their parents. Amanda overcompensated with creating new memories of just the two of them, and for the most part, they comforted Kenya, and gave her some sense of family, but on the odd visit they only saddened her.

"Gee, who would have thought that I'd find you here?" she asked sarcastically, gesturing at Amanda, who sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal in front of her.

"Hey, no fair," Amanda countered, raising a finger. "I'm not here every night."

"The office isn't any better, you know." Kenya stared down at her sister. "God, cereal and a glass of whiskey. Jesus, Amanda, no one would ever guess that you were the boss of six thousand people."

Amanda rolled her eyes before returning them to the brief she was reading. Kenya opened the refrigerator and rustled around before closing it and finally opting for the milk and cereal that Amanda had left out on the small wooden rolltop that served as a counter. Amanda slid her bowl across the table. "Fill mine up again, would you?" she asked.

Kenya poured them both a few of the toasted flakes and sat down across from her sister, dangling her spoon haphazardly over the bowl as she watched Amanda bow her head toward her own, shoveling in a mouthful. Of the two of them, Amanda had always been the ravenous one, always too busy to eat until hunger overpowered her. Kenya grazed, always watchful and quiet when she ate, which was one of the reasons her father had given him the nicknames he had: Bumblebee and Mouse. Amanda came up for air after another couple of bites, looking expectantly at Kenya. "Slow night at the bar?"

"You know I hate it when you call it a bar," Kenya replied. "It's much more than that."

"Slow night at the brothel?" Amanda chuckled at her own joke, her eyes widening apologetically.

Kenya threw a kernel of cereal into her sister's thick braid. "Yes, it was a slow night at the _lounge_." She had stuck around until the usual crowd trickled in, but when it was clear that Nolan wasn't coming, her disappointment had surprised her. And that only angered her. "I let Kelly handle things tonight. There's a reason I pay her to be head manager."

Kenya focused her attention on her cereal, and Amanda didn't pry any further. Her sister usually joined her a few nights a month, when the NeedWant didn't keep her past a certain hour or she didn't have other beds to warm. Whereas Amanda sought reprieve from the public, enjoying her time alone, Kenya craved human contact. It was an odd reversal of their daytime personas, with Amanda always pushing forward, and Kenya quiet, retreating, until the night tugged at her. "I'm glad you came over," she said, polishing off her second bowl of cereal.

"Why, so you don't have to drink alone?" Kenya asked, picking up the glass of rye and taking a small sip of it.

"I don't mind drinking alone."

"You don't mind doing a lot of things alone," Kenya pointed out.

"I see people all day," Amanda reminded her.

"Right, but you're not sleeping with them."

Amanda immediately thought of Stahma, and covered her embarrassment by peering into the whiskey as she took another slow drink. It went down the wrong way, and she coughed.

"I can't remember the last time I've seen you go out on a date."

"I've been a little busy taking care of us," Amanda replied stubbornly, although that particular excuse that had stopped being believable years ago.

"Uh-uh," Kenya said, playfully wagging her finger. "I will not let you blame your celibacy on me, it's just mean."

"Kenya, Defiance is a town of 6,000 people. Do you know how hard it is to be a lesbian in a town with 6,000 people? And be Mayor?"

"Okay, so your odds aren't as good as mine," Kenya admitted with a wave of her hand.

"No one's odds are as good as yours."

"I did not come over here to hang out with Amanda the Nun, okay?" Kenya replied, the slightest irritation in her voice. "Seriously, when is the last time you got laid?" She plucked a piece of dry cereal from her bowl and popped into her mouth.

"Last month," Amanda blurted, surprised by her honesty.

Kenya's eyes widened. "With you?" she asked, suddenly suspicious that her sister was simply making it up to end the conversation.

"She was no one special," Amanda muttered, regretting her lapse of control. "Just someone passing through for a night."

"God, Amanda, you're the worst liar," Kenya said, shaking her head. "Did someone break your heart when I wasn't looking?" She was joking, the painful truth of the comment all but lost on her. But her giggle died in her throat as she watched Amanda slowly turn the glass of whiskey, her eyes following the swish of the liquid. "Bee?"

"Hmm?" Amanda peered back at her, sadness etched in the corners of her mouth, and Kenya knew enough to drop her line of questioning; she'd gotten too close to the truth.

"Rough day?" She hoped Amanda would give the answer that had become their own private joke over the years, a way of checking in with each other when one of them disappeared down a mental rabbit hole.

Amanda smiled tiredly at her. "Rough life."

Kenya stood, rounding the table and taking Amanda's hand. "Come on."

"What, no," Amanda rebuffed, shaking her head and reaching for the glass again.

Kenya pulled her out of the chair and toward the small archway that lead to the living room. "No, come on, you have to dance it off, you're getting drunk and you're depressing me."

Amanda pulled her hand away again, but Kenya reclaimed it, twirling herself under her older sister's uninjured arm. "Kenya, my arm hurts."

"You don't need your arm, you just need your legs."

Amanda chuckled, but she rolled her eyes as Kenya completed another twirl. "Kenya, I don't want to dance."

"Because you're not good at it," Kenya reminded her, this time twirling Amanda around her. "You don't like to follow."

"Because I'm a leader," Amanda pointed out.

"Yes!" Kenya exclaimed, clapping her hands once as she did another celebratory circle around her. "You are not only a leader, my dear, you're Mayor!"

The absurdity struck her as she watched Kenya float around the tattered couch, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I'm Mayor!" she repeated, this time taking her sister's hand.

Kenya's other hand floated above her hair. "And I'm a proprietor!"

The two of them danced until they didn't, finally flopping onto Amanda's neatly made bed, crinkling the sheets as they laughed, exhausted. Amanda knew Kenya's presence was part of the reason she finally let herself drift off so easily, fatigue draping over her like a veil. Tonight, they were both safe. Tonight, she would sleep. Tomorrow, she would go back to protecting her town.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Half the fun is hearing from you guys - I appreciate your kind comments.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Amanda stood over Ben, her eyes running over the burn marks on his face and the small incision that Doc Yewll had made at the base of his sternum. The Pale Wars had hardened her against death, but they had also buttressed her faith in those that had shown kindness to her and Kenya in the years since. Ben had been one of those kind souls, which is why his betrayal still stung. As she stared down at his body, which now lay lifelessly on Doc's exam table, she felt that betrayal manifest as a well of shame behind her eyes. Her trust in him lead not only to Luke's death, but to the death of forty-one other people. Amanda's guilt pulled her down, her mind like quicksand, but Doc's brisk attention to detail didn't allow her to wallow too long in her own thoughts.

"This one was programmed to the brim," Doc said, patting the top of Ben's forehead with her gloved hand. "You're lucky you brought him in still alive, otherwise some of his programs would have self-destructed."

"Did you find anything in his chip that could tell us anything?" Amanda asked, peering up at her.

"What didn't I find? Votech, city planning modules, you name it. But, there was one that I thought you might be interested in." Doc handed over a small tablet, a salvaged one that she had convinced Mayor Riordan to purchase for the lab. "He'd been recently programmed with an army technical chip. That, and a slew of topography and GIS components."

Amanda raised both eyebrows, surprised, even though the events of the past week should have make her expect just about anything. "What's the make of the chip?" She ran her eyes over the electronic screen, unfamiliar with the series of numbers that seemed so like a second language to Doc.

"A modified Earth Military Command E-100 Standard." Doc leaned over the tablet, and brought up the specs. "It isn't standard issue, which means former military or someone could probably still get their hands on it. Or, they copied it." She pressed the screen again, bringing up a series of map images. "And here are the map components. Or, at least the ones I was able to salvage."

"These maps are incredibly old," Amanda continued, scrolling through them. "I've never seen some of them before."

Doc nodded. "Tactical maps, most likely, but none the EMC would ever use. These look like they date back a few hundred years."

Amanda honed in on one of the maps that she knew from Nicolette's own stash, the terrain and layout still familiar despite lacking the common landmarks. She fingered the spot where she knew the arch would eventually stand. "I've seen this one. These are all of St. Louis," she said, slowly. "Can you print these for me?"

"Sure," Doc nodded, plucking the tablet from Amanda's fingers and moving to a small printer that sat at her makeshift desk. "Not sure how clear they'll come out, but I'll do my best."

"In my experience, your best usually saves the day." Amanda peeled her eyes from Ben's graying skin. "I don't know what we would do if you didn't wear so many hats around here."

Doc glanced at her blankly. "I don't wear hats."

"Sorry, Human expression," Amanda clarified lightly. "I meant, you perform a lot of duties for this town. I really appreciate your help the other night with the Volge. We wouldn't have won that battle without you."

Doc simply shrugged. "It was nothing. And it beats dying."

Amanda chuckled, nonplussed by the response, but after a moment Ben's body pulled her eyes down again. "Have you heard from his next of kin? His mother lived in Boston."

"They're coming to claim him tomorrow," Doc replied tersely, stacking the sheets from a printer as they floated onto her pristine counter. "And don't worry. I won't let them know that their son died a traitor to his town." Amanda looked up, surprised by the emotion behind the remark, which didn't come very often from the Indogene. Doc pursed her lips. "My race is a rational one," she offered unsympathetically. "But we still place a high regard on loyalty. And not acting like a jackass."

Amanda's jaw hardened as Doc's words plucked the strings of her own anger. She stood, resolve in her voice now, rather than guilt. "What's done is done. The only thing left to do is follow what little Ben left us." She reached for the pages of maps in Doc's hand, but they moved just out of reach.

"Let me see the shoulder." Doc raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Amanda tossed her head, still irked by the limits her injury had placed on her. "My shoulder is fine."

"Show me."

Amanda sighed, taking the few steps closer to Doc and pulling her arm out of the makeshift sling that was tied at her neck. She lifted her arm only a few inches from her body, hoping that would suffice. "See? Completely mobile." She grabbed for the maps, hoping to prove her exaggerated point even further.

Doc didn't buy it, more than familiar with the pain that came with a blast of light fire. But, she was also familiar with the stubbornness that came with her new Mayor. She reached into a cabinet above her head and plucked a small sample of pills from it. "I've got is a few pain tabs for you, but I'm completely out of the Aloxin to help with the scarring. Damn shortage in San Francisco is affecting us all."

"Don't worry about it," Amanda assured her, accepting the pills graciously, already looking forward to popping a couple of them. "A little scarring doesn't bother me. If anything, maybe it will help me look a little more intimidating." She gave Doc a quick wink before heading toward the door. This time, she left without looking back at Ben. He was no good to her dead; the only thing that could help her now were the maps she held in her hand

* * *

The sun had risen already, but clouds hid its brightness, hitting the Tarr's garden with a muted gray light. Stahma occasionally enjoyed the sunless sky, which reminded her of the bright, white starlight that had beamed upon her home planet. Slowly, the foliage of the New Earth had wedged its way into her heart, and she took pleasure in learning the herbs, the strange, coiling vines, and the perky flowers that bloomed only at certain times of the year. Still, she never missed an opportunity to enjoy the quiet, gray mornings. Dew still covered the herbs this particular morning, leaving her fingers damp as she cut a few sprigs, slipping them into the pocket of her cloak. Footsteps sounded behind her and she straightened, turning to meet Datak with a warm smile.

He met her with a fretful frown, his demeanor almost as gray as the sky. "Why don't you let Ashma cut your herbs for the tea?" he asked haltingly.

"I enjoy doing it," she told him, smiling up at him despite his edginess. "What has you so bothered this early in the morning?" She turned back to her herbs, peering sideways at him as she readied her scissors to snip at a several aloe leaves.

"Your Mayor."

The scissors slipped, the blade slicing faintly along Stahma's finger, and she hissed as a thin line of blood appeared.

"That is exactly why Ashma should cut the flowers," Datak reiterated, but took her hand in his own, plucking a handkerchief from his pocket. He wrapped it around finger before lightly kissing her knuckle.

The sweetness surprised Stahma; it had been awhile since she had been privy to this side of her husband. Still, his words shrouded over her. "Our Mayor?" she asked delicately.

Datak abandoned her hand and walked back through the glass patio, leaving Stahma no choice but to follow him. His voice echoed back at her as he entered the kitchen. "On the day we memorialized dead Votans, she was meeting with rangers from the Earth Republic."

The revelation relieved her, calming the alertness that prickled her mind whenever Datak brought up Amanda up in conversation. "The Earth Republic courted Nicolette all the time," she reminded him.

"Nicolette didn't meet with _Rangers_. They've had their eyes on the nuclear reactor for years, and she knew that."

"I'm sure Amanda knows that as well," Stahma said, attempting to placate his mood before their son drifted downstairs for breakfast. It had been weeks since they had enjoyed a meal without an argument of some sort.

Alak entered, his darkly-streaked hair mussed at his shoulders. He didn't bother with his parents, keeping his eyes on his hailer as he picked up a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table.

"Alak, where are your manners?" Stahma asked, her motherly tone pulling his attention from his gadget.

"Morning," he mumbled, biting into an apple.

Datak studied him. "Is that as close as you can get to a formal jacket?" he asked, pointing at the dark jean jacket Alak wore. "You look like a mere Liberata."

"I haven't gotten any complaints," Alak replied with a shrug, already bored with the conversation. "If you look at my sales figures, you shouldn't have any complaints, either." He glanced down at both of his parents, taking another bite of the fruit. "I won't be riding in with you this morning," he mumbled to his father, walking towards the door. Stahma followed him, reaching for his hand. She brushed a lock of tinted hair off his forehead, peering into the eyes that were a perfect amalgamation of her and her husband. They still held a kindness that she loved to see, and she didn't like the way his hair covered it. "Mom," he said, annoyed.

"I'm sure Christie wants to see your lovely eyes," she said with a teasing smile, more than aware of Datak's gaze burning her back. She pressed a kiss against Alak's cheek before letting him go. "Tell her we said hello." The small, understanding smile Alak gave her let her know that despite the stilted aggression he held towards Datak, he was still the son that she remembered.

"We will see you back here this evening for the fundraiser!" Datak called as Alak left, but his words were met only with the slam of a door, which only darkened his mood further. "You should not occupy his head constantly with such frivolous thoughts."

"They're far from frivolous, Datak. He is marrying a McCawley girl. It's time you saw that as a good thing."

"It isn't as if Rafe McCawley is in any position to let Alak in on any part of running the mines. And lest you forget, Alak is not an heir. The only way we would be fortunate in that regard is if that other boy was offed in the same way that Luke was."

Stahma's eyes flashed at his hatred, but she didn't call him on it, preferring to stifle his anger rather than stoke it. She massaged his shoulders, hoping her words would do the same to his disposition. "You have done right by Alak, Datak. You have left with him with a future that you could only have dreamed of when you were his age." She looked up as Ashma entered the room, moving quickly to pour them both a cup of tea.

Datak sighed. "I have more pressing matters to focus on today. With the Collective meeting this evening, how does it look for me, as new Ambassador, to have Earth Republic Rangers spying in my town?"

Ashma set two cups of tea between them, but only Stahma bothered to give her a nod of thanks. "Ashma," she said, removing the herbs and aloe leaves from her cloak. "Would you mind grinding these and mixing them with some lavender oil?" Ashma nodded obediently, and this time Stahma voiced her thank you, eliciting an eye roll from Datak.

"You've gotten too familiar with them," he said.

"They're practically in our house more than you are," she responded evenly, her voice half accusing. "Sometimes a little kindness goes a long way in getting what you want, my dear."

Datak laughed. "It hasn't gotten me what I want here in this town," he replied. "And with a new Mayor, now I will be starting at the bottom."

"Your rapport with Amanda has been built for years," Stahma pointed out. "You've met with her almost as much as Nicolette."

"She doesn't have the same capabilities as Nicolette," he complained. "Nicolette understood our culture, understood the value we placed on being able to fully practice our beliefs. Amanda understands none of that."

"She's proven herself quite capable in battle," Stahma said, recalling the scars that peeked out from the bandage Amanda wore at the memorial. Datak had no idea how much their new Mayor did indeed understand about their race. "Need I remind you, that valor goes a long way in our culture?"

Datak peered curiously at her. "I didn't realize you'd gotten so close with our dear new Mayor in all those hours planning the Armistice Day event." He took a sip of his tea. "And what was it before that, some other horrid inter-species Earth day or something?" His mood was lightening, but the memories he called to mind only made Stahma's heart quicken.

"And, need I remind you how well those efforts went over with the townspeople?" she asked. "They love you for them. Are you questioning my philanthropic motives, my dear?" She moved to sit on his lap, placing her lips at his neck. He stirred beneath her and she smiled, always amused by how easily he was to handle.

"Not all all, Stahma," he said huskily. "You keep them eating out of the palms of our hands, and I'll keep greasing the wheels."

She laughed at him. "Well, you are quite adept with Human expressions these days." As she felt his body respond to her touch, she became more brash. "Why don't I have lunch with Amanda. See what I can sort out?" A flutter rippled through her stomach, pleasurable and familiar, and it had nothing to do with her husband's hand moving up her leg. She waited as Datak thought through her offer, but her ploy was as murky as the Badlands swamps; he would never see through it. His attention had been too focused on power for too long for him to notice his wife's true motives.

He touched her chin, nodding. "You do understand these Human women," he admitted.

"Yes," she agreed. She smiled, regaining her composure fully. "I will update you on anything that I discover."

Datak grinned, cupping his hand under her jaw, his thumb just grazing her neck. "See that you do." He kissed her, forcefully, but there was no passion; power propelled him, not lust. Still, Stahma returned the kiss dutifully, thinking of the flowers that she had cut that morning: soft, beautiful, but each containing hidden multitudes of uses in their thin, green leaves. Datak trusted her, but he had no idea of the passion that ran through her.

* * *

Amanda's tires skidded to a stop about twenty yards from the entrance to the Old City, stirring up a swirl of dust around her roller. Driving with her left hand wasn't a skill she excelled at, but so far she'd made it one piece. Nolan stared at her as she climbed out, holding a hand above his eyes to block the morning sun. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

She waved the printouts of the maps at him. "Saving you some time." She hopped out of the roller and laid the maps out on its hood, plucking her hailer out of her belt to anchor them. "These were programmed into Ben's EPC chips."

Rafe appeared beside them, his dark hair pulled into a slick pony tail at the base of his neck. "These are mostly of the Old City and Defiance," he said, immediately recognizing the land that had been home to him for so many years.

Nolan recognized the terrain as well, finding it hard to believe that any of it still existed beneath the terraformed rock. He pointed at a circular mark on one of the maps. "This is a target," he informed them. "Could be a place where Ben was directed to go for some reason or another."

Amanda glanced at him before squinting back at the map. "How can you tell?"

"This map is still using the EMC legend. Circles marked destination territories, diamonds marked hostile areas. Easy enough to understand if you're in the field."

"Then this is where we're going." Amanda rolled up the maps and stuck them in her back pocket, ignoring Nolan's eyes.

"We're not going anywhere," Nolan countered, gesturing between himself and Amanda. He pointed at Rafe instead. "McCawley and I are heading down."

"I'm going down with you."

"That wasn't the plan earlier this morning. The plan was that Rafe and I would - "

"I changed my mind," Amanda interrupted, authority hardening her narrow shoulders.

"Going down into the Old City can be dangerous, Amanda," Rafe advised.

"So was fighting the Volge," she reminded him. "Don't give me any of this chivalry bullshtako, gentlemen. I'm going in with you."

"You sure you need to be following us down with that shoulder?" Nolan asked, pointing at her sling. "You'll only slow us down." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The only thing that made Amanda work harder at something was doubting that she could do it. He'd been in town less than two weeks and he could see that much.

Amanda pursed her lips, belligerently slipping her arm out of the sling and tossing it into the roller. "My arm is fine."

"Prove it," Nolan pressed.

She reached up with her still bandaged arm and punched him as hard as she dared, hiding her cringe by walking past him and toward the dark entrance of the cave. "I told you," she said, her teeth pressed together in pain. "The arm is fine."

Nolan glanced at Rafe, but the older man only shrugged, having learned long ago to pick his battles when it came to Amanda. "All right," Nolan muttered. "In we go." He handed over a hard hat to Amanda, and she flicked on its light. Rafe led the way into the darkened tunnel, the three of them crouching under the folded rock as they moved slowly inside, edging downwards along a narrow ridge. "So tell me," Nolan called. "How the hell did an entire city end up preserved under terraformed rock?"

"Good question," Rafe replied. "Mostly a quirk of timing and the structure of the rock. During the first Ark Falls, two terra-missiles lodged on either side of the city. The crust rose, terraforming pretty quickly, and formed a sort of arch. That buttressed the rock while it formed, until it essentially formed a cave over the city. By that time, it had been pretty much deserted, mostly used for Earth Military Coalition refueling efforts."

"Archeologists have had a field day in it," Amanda added. "They file requests to come in once in awhile, but everything was cleaned out by the Raiders pretty quickly. There are some parts, though, that have never been explored."

"Too dangerous," Rafe echoed. "When the Earth Republic began running low on fuel during the war, they put a nuclear reactor near the city. One wrong blast and we lose half the Old City."

"How is this place secured?" Nolan asked. He glanced at Amanda. "Or is that a part of my job you conveniently forgot to tell me about?"

Amanda grinned, shaking her head. "We have a pseudo stasis at the front end," she said. "That's about all we can afford for now."

The ridge they followed banked a few feet down, and they came to a stop, peering over the expanse of the Old City. "Holy fucking shtako," Nolan breathed. It was dark, but he could see the outlines of the buildings that marked his childhood.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Amanda never tired of the view, and although she'd never stepped foot inside St. Louis prior to the Ark Falls, she could still imagine the parks, the life, the families that had thrived there.

"It's like it hasn't changed," Nolan said, surprised by the onslaught of memories that pummeled him. He recognized the park where he played as a kid, and the old department building that housed a grocery that he only remembered because of the powdered donuts he used to beg his mother to buy.

"You know St. Louis well, do you?" Rafe asked, looking back at him.

"I grew up here." Nolan pointed out beyond the park. "In the west of town, that direction."

Rafe's head lamp followed Nolan's gesture. "Surprising to see what they took from us, isn't it?" He sighed, motioning them to follow him once more, the three beams of their lamps bounding off the rock walls. "About five square miles of the city survived the terraforming," Rafe continued. "Whatever they were looking for down here, it would have taken them awhile to find it."

Nolan stopped short, his hearing pricked by a small, whirring sound. "What was that?" he asked, his eyes making a frenzied pass over the dimly lit walls around them.

"What was what - " Amanda began, but her question was cut short as a small boom echoed beneath them, the ground suddenly caving in under their feet. Amanda lost her footing, tumbling against Nolan as they slid, grasping blindly at rock and unstable dirt as the ridge they had been standing on moments earlier disappeared. When the ground finally stilled, Amanda coughed, breathing in only dust as she tried to get to her feet. A hand reached out to her, and she grabbed it, her head lamp finding Nolan above her. Her bandage had loosened in the fall, and her arm was smarting with a new pain, but she was more concerned about keeping her feet on solid ground.

Nolan shook the dirt out of his hair as he extended a hand to Rafe, pulling him to his feet. "McCawley, I'm hoping you got another way out of here," he said, looking up at the pile of now dismantled rock that stretched about fifteen feet above them.

"Shtako," Rafe mumbled shining his light around them.

"That's not quite the response I was hoping for," Nolan replied. His eye caught something in the rubble, and he dug through the fallen rocks, picking out a small electronic contraption, its legs gone, but its shell recognizable. "A damn scrapper," he said.

"What the hell is a scrapper doing down here?" Amanda asked, trying not to favor her shoulder.

"Seems like quite a coincidence," Nolan replied, smashing the scrapper's shell further into the rock until its inner casing fell out of it. He stuffed the small chip in his pocket. "Especially considering they don't usually carry gulanite explosives inside them. I'm checking out its program."

"I'll have to get my guys down here with a tracker," Rafe said. "We're not going any further until I make sure there aren't any other scrappers down here."

"How long will that take?" Nolan asked.

"The better question is how long will it take us to get out of here?" Amanda asked, peering at the rock around them. "If we go any further in, we risk setting off other explosives."

Rafe pulled a rope and an anchor from his belt. "We climb."

Nolan glanced at Amanda. "Tell me again how that arm's doing?"

"Fuck you, Nolan."

"Last I checked, damsels in distress didn't talk like that." He smirked at her.

She took a step toward him, her eyes glowering even in the dim light. "Last I checked, you don't need to dig your hole any deeper."

Nolan glanced around them, chuckling. "Touche, Lady Mayor. Touche." He caught one set of ropes that Rafe tossed at him, tying one end to his belt and searching for a stable enough path back up the ridge. "Fortunately," he said, hauling himself upwards onto a small foothold, "I excel at getting out of deep shtako." He winked at her before continuing his climb, only tossing down the rope once he had managed a navigable path. Whatever track they had been on moments earlier, it had probably been the right one. It would be Nolan's job to get them eventually back on it.

* * *

Amanda got more than a few stares as she walked briskly through the lobby of the town hall, dust wafting from her clothes and creating small cloud around her. She jabbed her finger impatiently against the elevator button, only stopping to smile as a security sensloth passed by, eyeing her warily. She hopped into the elevator, her stomach growling, reminding her that the lunch hour had long passed while they climbing out from fall. She hoped to creep by Lana without having to offer an explanation for why she was tracking half of the Old City in on her boots. She got no further than the small bank of chairs that marked the waiting area in front of Lana's desk before halting in her muddied tracks, her breath catching tightly in her throat.

"Madame Mayor," Stahma greeted her, setting down the magazine that had barely kept her attention while she waited. Her bewildered eyes raked over Amanda's soiled clothes, smudges of gray dust coating her shoulders.

"Hello," Amanda returned as cordially as her appearance allowed. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her forearm.

Lana spoke up from her desk, clearly as shocked by Amanda's appearance as Stahma. "Madame Mayor, Ms. Tarr stopped by for a moment of your time."

"It's Amanda," Amanda corrected her automatically, giving a slightly embarrassed smile as she looked back at Stahma. "We're not that formal around here."

Stahma hid a smile, gesturing at Amanda's dusty clothes. "I can certainly see that. I'm happy to give you a moment to... freshen up, if you'd like."

Amanda's curiosity got the best of her, and she motioned to her open door. "Come on in, while I wash up." As Stahma entered, making herself at home, Amanda turned her attention to Lana, whispering behind a cupped hand. "Did she mention what she was here for?"

Lana shook her head, handing over a stack of paper messages. "No. And no one told me it was 'Casual Friday'," she piped, wiping the gray dust off of her desk.

Amanda rolled her eyes, but chuckled. "A rough day in the field." The avalanche at the mine suddenly felt far away as she watched Stahma peer back at her, a mysterious smile curling her lips. "Lana, do you mind grabbing something for me to eat from Glida's? Get yourself a cup of tea or something while you're there, it's no rush." Lana nodded enthusiastically, more than okay with being mandated to take a break from the office for a few minutes. Without having yet hired another aide, the quiet sometimes got to her.

Amanda watched Lana leave before entering her office, exhaling as she did so. Earth Republic Rangers and mine explosions were all in a day's work, but only Stahma could make her heart beat faster in both dread and anticipation. Stahma stood by the window, smiling warmly as Amanda closed the door behind her. "I thought perhaps the reason I hadn't met with you since you took this position was because you were too busy meeting with diplomats," she said. "But it looks as if you've been too busy crawling through the Badlands."

Amanda grinned, once again glancing down at her ruined clothes. "Not quite the Badlands," she replied. "I ran into some rockslides in the Old City." She walked into the small cubbyhole of a bathroom at the side of the room, exhaling slowly as she splashed water over her face, hoping the coldness would calm the swell of feeling inside her. She wiped her face dry with a small hand towel and moved toward the closet, hunting for a fresh shirt.

"Never a dull moment," Stahma offered, watching her back. "Does that have anything to do with the Rangers that visited you yesterday?"

Amanda's rummaging ceased momentarily. "Ah, so that's why you're here," she said over her shoulder, yanking a fresh tank top off of a hanger. She turned back to Stahma. "You're spying for your husband."

Stahma shook her head, toeing the line of betrayal that stretched between Amanda and Datak. "No," she corrected. "But, you should know that Datak has been informed of the visit. He's not happy about it."

"When is Datak happy about anything?"

It was meant as nothing more than a joke, a mere observation, but Stahma frowned. "I'm simply trying to help you both."

"I don't have time to parlay with the Earth Republic," Amanda said, fishing a pair of pants out of the closet as well, her voice muffled. "I've got a lot on my plate right now."

"I've never understood that expression," Stahma replied. "On Casti, that was a good thing, a full plate."

Stahma's take on earthly idioms was still a source of amusement for Amanda, but she kept her smile hidden as she shut the closet door with her boot. "Being Mayor is both a blessing and a curse."

"Ah, now that is something I understand all too well." Stahma moved beside the credenza in the center of the room, curiously eyeing the trinkets that lined its shelves, collected by various Mayors since the town's founding. "You Humans and your... things," she said with a disdainful shake of her head.

Amanda grinned as she walked over to her. "It's called 'history'," she corrected, all too aware of the Casti obsession with minimalism, which usually manifested itself in Stahma's wardrobe, which today was nothing more than a white, belted dress. As her eyes drifted over it, remembering the pale skin underneath, she had a sudden need to run more cold water over her face.

"I believe you Humans call it 'hoarding'," Stahma pressed, plucking the string of a broken violin that lay atop the table. "Are you not cleaning out this office now that it's yours?"

Amanda looked around her, at the room that she had come to know so well over so many years. The thought of cleaning it out was almost like throwing away her past. She had done that once already, and she didn't want to have to do it again. "I like the office the way it is."

"Sentimental humans," Stahma teased with a smile, her light, feline eyes slanting upwards.

Amanda walked past her, letting her words float close to the other woman's body. "Frigid Castithans," she countered, falling easily into the banter that they perfected in the small moments they stole together. She rounded the credenza and stopped, peering at Stahma from the opposite side. "You're going to have to get used to our Human quirks. I heard about Alak and Christie's engagement."

"Ah, yes," Stahma replied somewhat modestly, brushing her pale hair behind her ear. Her voice was calm, but her eyes gleaned with pleasure. "For me, it's quite exciting. I've always thought that weddings were a ceremony that your kind did well." She paused, her eyes dimming. "For Datak, it's... quite the opposite."

Amanda shrugged, knowing Datak's hatred of any customs that fell too far from his own. "From what I understand, Rafe isn't happy about it, either."

"Neither of them can see any further than their own obsession with power," Stahma said quietly. "Datak and I have always said that we would never impose marriage upon Atak. We both know what it's like to marry for love."

Amanda knew the comment was not meant to cut into her, but it did, and she couldn't resist regaining some of the power that Stahma took from her just by being in the same room. "And how is that working out for you?" she asked harshly.

Stahma kept her composure, returning Amanda's even gaze. "Do you really want to know?" she asked cunningly, but her words were encased in a loneliness that she couldn't hide, at least not in front of Amanda. She had come here for something, and she would not get it by dissecting her married life. "My only concern is making sure that Alak is happy and that his future is sound." She shook her head. "At the moment, I believe Christie is his only choice that doesn't worry me."

Amanda sighed. "Sometimes the only thing you can do is let go."

Stahma studied the fine lines that were only just beginning to etch Amanda's face. The two of them were close in age, but Amanda held an innocence in her features that belied the responsibility she had bared for most of her life. "Spoken like someone with experience in such matters. How is Kenya these days?"

Amanda shrugged. "She refuses to do anything I tell her."

"Smart girl." Stahma laughed. "Your sister runs the lifeblood of this town. As much as you may frown upon it, there is a reason why she has stayed in business all these years. Everyone has a vice."

Amanda raised an eyebrow at her. "Some people just get their vices from different places, I guess." Before Stahma could offer a reply, Amanda held up her change of clothes. She had dipped too easily back into rapport with Stahma, which only made her nervous. "I'll just be a minute. If the human trinkets become too much of a distraction, just enjoy the view," she said, pointing toward the window that overlooked the town.

Stahma watched Amanda disappear behind the bathroom door once again, and this time it closed behind her. The water in the sink ran once again, and Stahma pursed her lips, frustrated at her inability to read Amanda. In the beginning of their tryst, there had been nothing to read but lust, which had come easily enough for her. Now, Stahma had difficulty navigating the layers that had built over the course of their relationship, coating her with something much more than mere desire. She fingered the small vial of herbs in her clutch and walked to the closed bathroom door, hesitating before finally pushing it open. Amanda turned to her, startled. Stahma enjoyed catching her off guard; it was the only way to catch the true emotions that flickered across her face. This time, it was a flash of confusion.

"Jesus, Stahma, what are you doing?" Amanda hissed, a damp cloth in her hand and her bandage and tank top discarded uselessly on the ground.

"Enjoying the view."

Embarrassment tightened Amanda's features as she struggled to pull a clean shirt over her shoulders. Stahma held up the small vial of lotion. "I wanted to bring you this," she offered. "Crushed lotai root and Casti aloe. It will help with the scarring."

Amanda didn't take the vial, which only emboldened Stahma, and she took another step into the small space, closing the door. She popped open the stopper, and sniffed the concoction. "And fortunately, it smells lovely," she said with a smile, pouring some of it onto the tips of her fingers. Reaching forward, she rubbed it gently into Amanda's shoulder.

Amanda was unsure of whether it was the herbs or Stahma's touch that caused the sweet burn against her skin, but she didn't pull away. Stahma rubbed the oil underneath the strap of the shirt, grazing Amanda's sharp collarbone before moving back down the length of her arm, taking some pleasure in the feel of the sinewy muscles. Amanda held her breath as Stahma's eyes grazed over her scarred skin, her hands slipping underneath the hem of the tank top and lightly tickling her stomach. "How far do the scars go?" Stahma asked as her fingers crept upwards, cupping the fabric of Amanda's bra.

Amanda put a hand on Stahma's wrist, stopping her. "We can't do this," she whispered. "I'm not an aide anymore."

"Exactly," Stahma smiled, preying on her uncertainty. "You're Mayor." She took a step closer, challenging Amanda with both her light eyes and a firm touch. "You can do whatever you like."

In truth, Amanda had made her decision the moment she sent Lana away, but she hoped some semblance of rationality would prevail inside her. Instead, she saw nothing but the lightness of Stahma's eyes and the starkness of her red lips against her pale skin. An almost primal need lurched Amanda moved forward and she pulled Stahma's head down to her. They kissed, the frenzied kiss of a connection long missed, their lips dueling to explore each other. Eventually, their hands found better ways to utilize themselves, and Amanda found her way through Stahma's dress, finally touching her cool, bare skin. It was only when Stahma's thin fingers reached for Amanda's belt buckle that she reared back, the rationality she had sought only moments ago finally finding some heft. Amanda covered her mouth with her hand, as if it would prevent her from seeking Stahma's lips again. "Shtako," she muttered.

Stahma had been acquainted with Amanda's guilt before, and watched it settle like a divider between them. She chalked it up to the Human obsession with self-control. It had never served them well, considering they had so little of it. "Amanda," she tried calmly, raking her fingers through a few stray strands of soft blonde hair. "Don't spoil the moment."

Amanda took a step back from her. "Open the door."

"You don't want me to do that," Stahma said, brushing a hand up her arm.

Amanda shrugged off the touch, her inner turmoil playing out in the crinkle of her brow. "I'm not yours to use anymore."

"I don't recall ever using you," Stahma said. "Aside from for pleasure, perhaps, but I would say we're both guilty of that."

Amanda scoffed, loathing the part of her that had been so weak as to fall right back into such a dangerous game. "Oh, please, Stahma. What's better than having the Mayor in your back pocket, other than having her between your legs?"

Stahma smiled at the vehemence behind the remark, but they struck her hard nonetheless as she felt Amanda drifting from her. "If you recall, this began far before Nicolette even thought about appointing you to take her place." She took a step forward, pressing her boundaries. "Do you really think I would risk my husband, my name, and my family in order to gain political points from a mere aide?"

Amanda rolled her eyes, reaching for the doorknob. "I love it when you let your Castithan show," she said with a laugh. "It makes it that much easier to walk out."

Stahma grasped Amanda's hand, a sense of intense loneliness overpowering her lust. "I've missed you," she said softly. "That's all."

Amanda eyed her, catching the gentleness of her voice, but she knew Stahma's charms all too well. "You're manipulative."

Stahma smiled. "Yes, I am. But, you're too strong for such ploys, Amanda. Everything we've done together, what we're doing right now, is because you want to do it." She leaned closer, her lips edging close to Amanda's ear. "Don't you?" She didn't wait for an answer, reclaiming Amanda's lips on her own. The kiss built slowly, as if she knew she would be able to convince Amanda by appealing to her body rather than her mind. Stahma ran her hands over Amanda's arms, pulling her into a tighter embrace, their hips touching. Before long, Amanda would take control again, as she always did; sometimes, it simply took Stahma's forwardness to pull her back into their web.

Amanda moved Stahma against the sink, her hands gathering the fabric of her long skirt as her fingers skimmed a pale thigh. Stahma breathed heavily against Amanda's neck, taking in the scent of the lotai and aloe as capable fingers played lightly at the inside of her thigh. She pulled Amanda even further into her as she sought purchase on the base of the sink, wanting their bodies to touch, seeking a warmth that she never got from her own husband. Amanda's power came from a different place, a quieter, more determined one that made Stahma feel as if she were proving something only to her. Her breath came heavier as Amanda's hand played her breast, the disparate sensations emanating from the teasing fingers alighting along her body; only with Amanda did she ever feel this warm. She widened her thighs in an effort to invite some relief from the playful fingers, but they merely continued to tease her into a submission that was far below her caste. Amanda always needed her to beg for what she wanted; it was the only way for her to level the playing field.

Stahma nipped at a place below Amanda's ear, both a tacit warning and a request as she ran her hands underneath the tank top, brushing under the confines of her bra. Amanda let out a labored breath as Stahma's hands kneaded her, the pain in her shoulder now nothing compared to the pressure building below her stomach. She let her fingers press against Stahma's center, listening for the words that would finally settle her, and give her some reassurance that Stahma was hers, if only for a few illicit moments. Stahma moaned lightly, pressing her lips against Amanda's neck, the word finally drifting from her: "Please," she whispered, a word mostly foreign to her before their affair.

Amanda let her fingers continue their journey, curling inside of Stahma, beckoning her to melt against her. They built quickly, each of them aware of the dangers that lay just outside the bathroom door, where the real world would separate them once again. Amanda felt Stahma tighten around her fingers, her lithe body going rigid as her hips quivered with a final, cathartic release. As both of them relaxed, Stahma's hands wasted little time finding their way to Amanda's belt buckle, but they were thwarted as the Mayor took a step back, shaking her head.

"No."

Stahma angled her head questioningly, then brushed off the refusal with a smile. "Don't be silly."

Amanda pushed her fingers away once more, this time more assertively. As much as she wanted Stahma physically inside her, she wanted the paler woman out of her heart even more, and refusing her the same access was the only way she knew to regain control.

Stahma seemed to understand, nodding slowly. "So be it," she said, standing, pulling her garments back into place and smoothing her dress. She ran her fingers through her hair as she glanced in the mirror, studying Amanda's reflection behind her. Her blond hair had come loose from her braid, framing her already hardened jaw, but there was a sense of loss in her eyes that have her a far away sadness. It was this very image that had haunted Stahma for the past few days, and seeing those eyes again in real time, she turned, searching Amanda's face. She reached forward, her white hand cupping Amanda's jaw. "I can't help that this is all we have."

Amanda swallowed, kissing Stahma's palm. "Like I said," she began softly, "I have a lot on my plate. I don't need anything more from you, Stahma." The words sounded convincing enough, but she had become very adept lately at persuasion.

"You are becoming quite the politician," Stahma breathed as she opened the bathroom door. "I almost believe you." She leaned in, placing a last kiss on Amanda's lips before reclaiming her clutch from the credenza. "I'll see you later tonight, my love." With that, she left, leaving the office door open, her footsteps fading on the marble floor. Amanda leaned against the door of the bathroom, Stahma's lingering scent the only reminder of what they had just shared.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'll be overseas for a couple of weeks, but will hopefully be posting an update while I'm traveling.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A lone Liberata stared at Irisa through the bars of the jail cell, his bushy beard, the color of rust, tussled up to his ears. She stared back at him without pity, seeing as she herself had been locked in the same cell no less than two weeks prior; it was comfortable enough for an overnight stay, and probably preferable to wherever the rogue Liberata would find shelter on his own.

Tommy turned the key in the cell's lock, pulling the heavy, barred door open. "How about you stay away from Sal's plundershop, okay?" he said, but the inmate only nodded, not making eye contact as he scurried out of the building, his ragged green cloak floating behind him. Tommy shook his head. "I don't think Sal will be happy we just let her go. He wanted to press charges this time."

Nolan had his feet propped on the opposite desk, a hand at his temple as he studied the maps they had recovered from Luke's room that afternoon. They bared only a slight resemblance to the ones found in Ben's implant, but he had been around the block long enough to know that overlooking coincidences usually lead to deep shtako. He glanced up at Tommy and shrugged, cricking his neck. "The last thing I need is a pair of bushy Lib ears listening in on us right now. It was either spring him or send him to the west precinct. And I don't think petty shoplifting qualifies as a western-worthy offense, no matter what Sal thinks."

Most Ark Raiders would agree, but Irisa knew her father's tolerance stemmed from an edged anxiety that had stiffened his shoulders since they left the McCawley's. Judging by the looks of the gaudy gold artifact they had found, her father either had a profitable ticket out of Defiance, or just another reason to prolong their stay. Irisa wasn't sure which she preferred. She hated the smallness of the town, but rarely had she had an opportunity to study so many of her kind in one place. She had begun to recognize several Irathients who gave her more than curious glances as she passed, and with Nolan occupied, she could get some space to explore the side of her that he so readily overlooked.

The door opened, and Irisa wasn't surprised to see Amanda, who Nolan rung just after they arrived back at the station, enticing her with the promise of a "damn good find". Irisa was, however, surprised to see the Mayor in something other than the usual tan slacks and leather jacket that had become her trademark.

Amanda was aware of the three pairs of eyebrows that raised as she stepped into the too-bright light of the small precinct. She self-consciously adjusted the pale white dress she wore, pulling it as far over her knees as the tight silk would allow. She opted to pull her scarf further over her shoulders and complimented her overt femininity with a calculated scowl.

"Whoa, the Lady Mayor knows how to clean up," Nolan called, smirking at her. "Who knew a campaign check could get you out of your usual getup?"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I'm not campaigning tonight."

"You should. You'd get a few votes in that dress."

Irisa was past the point of being embarrassed by her father's advances, but she was still pleased that Amanda ignored him, merely tapping her foot impatiently. "What'd you find?" she asked, her voice hurried.

"We found it," Irisa emphasized, gesturing at Tommy and taking some pride in their shared discovery. "In Rafe McCawley's backyard."

Amanda took a step forward, her heels tapping lightly against the floor as she sized Irisa up with a pleased eye. "I didn't realize you had been fully deputized," she said with a smile that Irisa didn't return. "Maybe we should put you on the town payroll as well."

"While I was busy tearing apart Luke's room," Nolan cut in, unzipping the pocket of his cargo pants and pulling out the artifact, "these two found this out back, buried near an old terratree house." He tossed a small cloth pouch at Amanda. "Heads up."

"Jesus, Nolan," Amanda chastised as she struggled to catch the bag with her good hand, more than certain it was something that wasn't supposed to be thrown so casually. At times, she desperately missed old Lawkeeper Clancy's stoicism. She pulled the drawstring that held the bag closed, and peered carefully into it.

"It ain't a hellbug sac," Nolan said. "It won't bite."

Amanda pulled a heavy, round chalice out of the bag, its gold glinting in the light. "What the hell..." she murmured, turning it over in her palm. Five holes sunk around its circular edges, as if waiting to be returned to a larger whole. It looked old, it looked important, and it didn't look like it belonged anywhere near St. Louis.

"Pretty close to the reaction I had," Nolan sighed. "I was hoping maybe you'd seen it before."

"I've never seen anything like it," Amanda replied. "But, apparently Ben and whoever he was working for knew what it was."

"And he was ready to kill for it," Tommy pointed out.

"Let's keep this under wraps," Amanda said, dropping the artifact back into the bag and walking it back over to Nolan's desk. "And keep it safe, okay?"

Nolan tossed it in his hand, smiling at her. "Of course, Lady Mayor." He moved to the ancient lockbox that he had discovered his first day on the job, and wrenched open its door. "I'll keep it right here with all of Defiance's other sacred evidence that I managed to find in here. Quite a filing system you've got." He tossed a cellophane-wrapped Twinkie towards Irisa, who caught it with one hand. "Like this, which I'm sure is a clue to Earth's old obesity problem, maybe, but not much else." Irisa stared down at the tube-like yellow cake, perplexed.

"Twinkie," Tommy offered helpfully, but the explanation did nothing for Irisa. "Clancy kept it as a good luck charm. Said he could eat it a hundred years from now if we ever went through another crop famine."

"That right there is an Old Earth treasure," Nolan said. "The Votans deep-sleep technology has nothing on what created that little tube of edible sponge."

Irisa dropped the package into her lap as the door opened again, this time revealing Kenya, whose low-cut dress signaled that she was very much on her way to work. Irisa's inclination was to dislike most of the women Nolan slept with, but Kenya had a fierce confidence about her that the others hadn't. That didn't mean things would end well between the two of them. Where Nolan was concerned, things didn't always end pleasantly, especially when it came to the fairer sex of any species.

"Oh, good," Kenya said, bypassing Nolan in favor of her sister, taking some pleasure in the way his confident grin fell as she walked by him. "Lana told me you were headed over. I hoped you'd still be here." She smiled the smile of someone bequeathing an important gift, and held out a small, thin silver chain with a translucent purple amulet at its center. "This will definitely impress your Votans tonight."

The only accessories Amanda was familiar with were her Hailer and the holster belt that carried it, but she recognized the hexagonal stone from a ring she had seen on Stahma's delicate fingers. "Is this Casti lavendarleaf?" she asked, surprised that Kenya possessed such a prized gem.

"It sure as hell is," Nolan said, his Ark Raider eye trained to recognize anything that could bring in more than a scrib's worth in the salvage trade. "What poor old Castithan did you scrounge that from?" he asked skeptically, unsure as to whether his jealousy stemmed from the fact that Kenya possessed such an expensive piece or that someone other than himself had given it to her.

"It was a gift, thank you very much," Kenya confirmed with a self-contained smile. She took the necklace and circled it around Amanda's neck, fastening it at the back. "Castithans always appreciate a woman who acknowledges their customs. Women who wear this stone are of the highest order. You'll fit right in with those snob Casti wives at the dinner."

"And how do you know so much about Casti wives?" Nolan asked, amused.

Kenya met his remark with a challenging eye. "Who do you think their husbands complain to?"

Amanda held up her hand, stopping Kenya from elaborating any further. "I'm going to have to look at these men with a straight face tonight, so I need you to stop right there."

Kenya smirked at her. "If I told you what they were into, they wouldn't be nearly as intimidating." She had hit her limit, knowing that her profession and its tantalizing secrets weren't something that Amanda liked to acknowledge. "You look beautiful," she said, changing the subject. "You look like you're President of the entire New Earth."

Amanda rolled her eyes in embarrassment, but Kenya's charms went a long way in giving her some needed confidence. "Thank you, Mouse," she whispered, winking at her before turning back to Nolan. "I'll check back in with you first thing tomorrow," she reminded him.

"Perfect. Still gives me plenty of time to prowl the Hollows tonight, see if I hear anything on the street."

Kenya felt a sting of disappointment. "Hey, Irisa," she blurted, an idea blooming in her mind. "There's an Irathient band playing tonight at the NeedWant, if you're interested." She glanced at Nolan before pressing her point. "It might be good for you to get out of here once in awhile. Maybe hang out with some people your own... age."

Nolan wasn't convinced, but he saw a flicker if interest behind Irisa's large eyes. "Only if LaSalle goes," he said quickly, jerking his thumb at Tommy. Irisa, he knew, could very well take care of herself, which was partly the problem. He didn't need her getting into any trouble now that they finally had a shot at stability and some time to save a little scrib.

Irisa shared a glance with Tommy, who looked just on the edge of intimidated, as if he'd been asked to guard a Hellbug rather than his Chief's daughter. She smirked at him before straightening her lips back into her more comfortable grimace.

"Great," Kenya said, content for the time being. If Nolan knew Irisa was at the NeedWant, he would be more apt to stop by after prowling the Hollows. And she would have more of a shot at getting him back into her bed, and hopefully out of her mind.

"Shtako, I'm late," Amanda mumbled, tearing her gaze from the maps on Nolan's desk that had caught her attention, their pages filled with enough geographical history to occupy more than a few lonely, sleepless nights at her place. "Can I take these with me?"

Nolan pushed them toward her, his smile that of a boy that had gotten out of doing his homework. "By all means, if you want to do the research, go right ahead. I'll stick with field work."

Amanda grabbed the bundle, tucking it under her arm and holding the door open for Kenya, who followed just behind her. She waited for the heavy clang of the door before looking back at Kenya, a dawning epiphany nipping at her. "Please tell me you're not sleeping with him already."

"Okay, 'I'm not sleeping with him already'."

"Jesus, Kenya." Amanda tossed the packet of maps into her open roller, the pages fluttering in the light breeze that floated through the darkening sky.

"What, the man has needs and I'm more than happy to fulfill them. It's not like he's paying me."

"Is that better or worse?"

"He's nice."

Amanda laughed, trying to keep her annoyance from morphing into cruelty. Despite her chosen profession, Kenya had a way of seeing the good in people in a way that alluded Amanda, who could have used such optimism in her own career. It was another irony of their intertwined lives. "Just don't get attached," she warned. "He's a wanderer."

"Bee, when is the last time you saw me get attached to anything?" Kenya pointed out, her hands on her hips.

Amanda felt the quick smart of guilt, as she was responsible for the nomadic life they had led before settling in Defiance, which had kept both of them from attaching themselves to anything other than each other. "Besides jewelry?" she asked, pushing the guilt and grief away with a convincing grin.

"Besides jewelry," Kenya confirmed, laughing at her. "Have fun tonight and please have a drink when you get there. You're way too uptight."

"It's my job to be uptight." Amanda hiked her skirt up her thighs and climbed into her roller, leaving a decidedly unladylike trail of dust behind her as she peeled away from her makeshift parking space. A full moon hung over her as she drove into the black horizon, leaving Kenya to stare after her.

* * *

The Tarr residence wasn't large by Castithan standards, and never would have suited a family of three on Stahma's home planet, but it towered over the nearby homes on its small street. Earth had modified their living, but what the home lacked in expanse, it more than made up for in appearance. Stahma saw to it that the white interior was adorned only with the finest reminders of her home planet, and she couldn't help but feel some pride whenever Datak's endeavors required her as hostess.

Once the introductions were made and the tours given to the various Castithan diplomats that made up the primary voting party of the Votan Collective, however, she distanced herself from the group, taking a moment to refill her wine glass. At Datak's request, she had spared no caution when arranging the finest wines and classic dishes of Casti, and she took every opportunity to enjoy a glass of only the finest New Earth wine. It helped settle the ripple in her stomach, which bloomed not only from the importance of the Collective's visit, but from Amanda's arrival. Stahma walked into the abandoned entry foyer, as if by standing there, she could summon Amanda to her. The hall was quiet, and she admired a large floral arrangement that she had prepared from her own gardens.

Amanda had yet to arrive, making Datak a bit nervous as he worked the room of Votan diplomats, but Stahma recognized it as a mere political ploy, and a smart one at that. She appreciated a woman who tested her boundaries even more than she appreciated a man who did the same.

As she fussed with the flowers for the last time, the rough stalks of a locti plant grazing her palms, she heard Amanda's voice just outside the door. Stahma didn't expect the Collective's security guards to give her a hard time, but she nevertheless opened the heavy white door, preempting their formalities. "Madame Mayor," she said warmly, extending a hand and pulling her through the two guards, nodding at them before closing the door. "I was wondering when you'd grace us with your presence."

"One of the best pieces of advice Nicky ever gave me," Amanda replied with a knowing smile, "was to show up at an event after everyone has had their first drink."

"Then you're right on time," Stahma said, handing over the glass of wine she held. "You can begin to catch up."

Amanda accepted the glass graciously, taking a sip of the too sweet wine and wishing the Votans enjoyed a stiff bourbon as much as Humans did. "Delicious," she said politely, noting the voices that carried from the back of the house.

Stahma gestured appreciatively at Amanda's dress, using the opportunity to let her fingers flutter over the smooth fabric. "Casti white. You may as well have worn a peace flag."

Amanda laughed. "If you saw my closet, Stahma, you'd realize that my selection of formal wear is quite limited. But, peace is good. I'll go with it." She took another sip of wine, her eyes running over the skin that Stahma's revealing dress didn't cover. Her hands had caressed that skin only hours earlier, and the mere thought sent a blush over her cheeks almost as red as the wine she drank. She envied the Votans' coloring; rarely did embarrassment, nervousness, or even lust blush over their pale skin. Stahma moved her fingers to the amulet at her neck. "Kenya's attempt at getting me to fit in," Amanda explained, almost embarrassed by the opulence of the stone.

Stahma smiled playfully at her. "Trust me, Amanda, you're too beautiful to fit in with the men and too intelligent to fit in with these women."

Her words finally pulled a sincere chuckle from Amanda, who dipped her head modestly, a trait that Stahma admired, seeing it so rarely in her own race. "I'd say the same for you," Amanda returned, wishing that the two of them could simply spend the evening together without the weight of politics, class, race, or husbands. The fleeting reprieve was broken for both of them as voices floated toward them from the main living room.

"Come," Stahma said, taking Amanda's arm in what would appear to the unknown eye as merely a platonic welcome. Only the two of them felt the electricity lighting though them at the touch. "I'll show you to the party. And perhaps later I can give you a more formal tour."

Datak peered over a group of pale Castithan heads, seemingly relieved that his Mayor had finally arrived. He gave a small pat on the shoulder to the man standing next to him, excusing himself. "Why, Madame Mayor, it's always a pleasure," he said, reaching for Amanda's hand and giving it a formal kiss. The gesture was pure Castithan show, nothing more, but it made Amanda uncomfortable enough to avoid Stahma's eyes.

"Of course," she replied, wearing a thin, pragmatic smile. "I'm always eager to learn what the Collective is up to these days."

One of the Castithan men at the edge of the small circle, his pale white hair tied behind his neck, smiled and narrowed his reptilian eyes at her. "And we always enjoy learning what our favorite frontier town is up to, especially now that the Earth Republic has its sights set on you for a spur in their planned rail works."

Amanda knew he was fishing for more information than she would give, especially this early in the evening, but played along, adept at the political game. "That may be true for them, but those discussions haven't moved forward. Defiance has proven its ability to fully fund and govern our city without the assistance of outsiders."

"Or corrupt insiders, for that matter," Datak concurred. "Our Council is more than aware of Rafe McCawley's ties to the rail works. They won't give him a..." he trailed off, glancing at Amanda. "What is it humans call it, a rubber stamp, is that it?"

"I'd say that Tarr Industries has a fine stake in an export rail as well, but as you said, no rubber stamps," Amanda reminded him.

Stahma would have preferred to stay and listen to the diplomatic spar, enthralled by how easily Amanda acclimated to the world of men, but she returned to her role as dutiful Castithan wife, minding the rest of the high-caste women. She smiled graciously at them, but their talk of servants and household matters bored her. In that regard, she was fortunate that Datak involved her so easily in political affairs; if her husband no longer loved her like he used to, he still respected her intellect.

After Stahma claimed another glass of wine, Datak's voice carried across the room, inviting guests into the formal dining room. Amanda followed the group, trailing just behind Datak and taking the seat next to him, the sole woman among the Castithan men. The room was as pristinely white as the rest of the house, and Amanda sat her wine carefully on the table. She snuck a careful glance at Stahma, who sat at the opposite end of the table as Datak, each of them in charge of their gendered groups.

"Before we indulge in our meal," Datak announced, standing, "I'd like to toast to my beautiful wife, Stahma, for her efforts in hosting our meal tonight." He raised his glass, and the rest of his patrons followed suit, all of them resting approving smiles on the lady of the house. Stahma nodded gracefully, giving her husband a demure smile in return, which only made Amanda take a long, slow sip of her wine. Those smiles would never belong to her, a fact made worse simply because they did belong to the one man in Defiance who so wanted her to fail.

The meal passed easily, with politics abandoned for talk of the antiques salvage trade and the vistas of the terraformed west coast, all topics just as pleasingly palatable as the food. As dessert was served, a small plate of cream and fruit, Amanda heard her name mentioned at the women's side of the table, the first attempt at conversation that any of them had made.

"Your mother, Mayor Rosewater, was she in politics as well?" an older woman asked, her white hair coiled around her head in thick braids, mirroring the deep wrinkles spread across her face. "I know Human women have a history of such things."

Amanda had become adept at evading questions about her parents over the years, but the wine dulled her instincts, and she swallowed, blinking hard at the woman. "No, she wasn't," she replied quickly. "She was a teacher of literature."

"Ah," the woman responded. "Does she teach Castithan literature as well now, or does she focus mainly on Old Earth?"

"No." Amanda slid her spoon into her bowl, sinking it into a deep red swirl of strawberry. "She died during the Pale Wars."

"Innocently, I hope," the woman said, taking a casual bite of her fruit. "Or was she a vigilante?"

Amanda felt a quick burn in her chest as she looked back at the woman, opening her mouth to offer a retort, but Stahma spoke first, her delicate voice soothing the coolness between them. "Judging by Amanda's bravery so far as Mayor, I don't question her family's honor at all. The Pale Wars required all of us to make difficult decisions."

Amanda had told no one, not even Kenya, much less Stahma, of their mother's abandonment after their father's death, which she chalked up as cowardice rather than a difficult decision. Stahma's words struck that pent up sadness with the force of a mallet, and Amanda exhaled deeply, a pain behind her eyes. Exhaustion and the wine were both taking its toll, and she wished for a quick end to the evening.

"Datak and Mayor Rosewater." The head diplomat seated just across from her cleared his throat, and Amanda was glad for the interruption. "Perhaps you can clear up a rumor I heard on my journey." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Members of the Earth Republic visited you along with two rangers. Is that so or do my sources sway me wrong?"

Amanda looked briefly at Datak before responding, carefully calculating her words. "Visits like that are par for the course with the Republic."

"And Datak, you were aware of this visit?"

"I was," he said quickly, laying his spoon beside his dish, his dessert suddenly spoiled. "In fact, I was also with Amanda this afternoon for a visit to the Old City." He looked pointedly at her, daring her to say otherwise. "The two of us have been discussing the possible reclamation of the nuclear plant there."

Amanda's throat went scratchily dry, and she wished she had more wine, but her glass was starkly empty. She refused to look at the other end of the table, already feeling Stahma's eyes on her. Rather than reply with a lie, she simply demurred with a slight nod. "The plant is in no way remotely close to operation," she pointed out, placing her napkin on the table.

"Nonetheless, Tarr Industries is in a place to help harness this energy," Datak countered. "And I am sure that is something that would please the Collective immensely."

"Datak," Stahma said from the end of the table, speaking up despite her role as mere hostess. "The ladies are getting rather antsy after such a heavy meal. Perhaps it's time we retire for an apertif. You gentlemen can continue your business in the library." Datak eyed her carefully, but rose, gesturing for the men to follow him. "Always listen to the lady of the house," he said with a grin. "Otherwise, you'll pay for it. Come. We'll enjoy something stronger than lavender wine."

As Stahma escorted the women into the formal parlor, Amanda skimped down a back hallway, her teeth grinding in undiffused anger. She bypassed the bathroom and instead opted for the patio, winding her way out into the gardens, exhaling for the first time since her arrival. A pulsing at her temple was morphing into a spreading throb, heartened by the sweetness of the wine and the alacrity of the conversation.

She had purposely not worn her sling, and now she regretted it as a tenseness burgeoning upon pain ran through her shoulder and radiated down toward her wrist. She took a deep breath, letting her shawl fall off her shoulders and enjoying the chill that ran through her. The terramountain air always felt good this time of year; there was some good that came out of the changes after the ark falls, at least. She heard footsteps behind her and the rustle of flowers.

"Amanda."

She turned, her anger finally finding its outlet in the pale form before her. "I was so stupid to trust you, Stahma."

"I told Datak nothing about your visit to the Old City," Stahma insisted, her voice escalating at the accusation. "He has contacts across the town, you know that."

"He also has a damn good contact in his own bath house," Amanda replied sharply, knowing that Stahma had a point, but needing to take her stifled aggression out on someone.

"He doesn't need me for that," Stahma laughed, echoes of bitterness in the effort. "He has plenty of night porters at the NeedWant who could tell him much more than I ever could." If Amanda was in the mood to exert some power, Stahma wouldn't be so quick to back down, and she used the best tool in her arsenal. "Perhaps it was your sister who told him."

Amanda's earth-colored eyes narrowed as she brushed past Stahma, going back the way she came. "Fuck this shtako," she muttered, but Stahma's arm caught hers, gripping it firmly.

"You could use that anger for better purposes than this," she advised. "It's no secret that the Collective covets that nuclear plant, we all know it. What they don't know is why you were truly in the Old City today." Her eyes flashed. "And Datak doesn't know it, either."

Amanda pulled her arm away. "And neither do you. And if you think I'm going to tell you, you're out of your Machiavellian mind."

Stahma laughed, taking pleasure in the angry heat emanating from Amanda. "I'll take that comparison as a compliment. But no, I don't particularly care why you were there. But, Datak takes it as a matter of disrespect that he fought so valiantly for you against the Volge, and yet you continue to leave him out of town matters."

"I have no responsibility to inform anyone outside of the town council about any undisclosed activities."

Stahma paused. "Then give him a seat on the Council."

Amanda laughed openly, not surprised that Stahma had guided the conversation toward Datak's politics gain. "And why would I do that?"

"Because there is a vacancy and because I know Datak. He wants respect, and if he doesn't get it from the people of this town, he will find a way to get it from an outside power, like the Collective." Stahma angled her head to the moon, running her fingers along the leaves of an orchid. "We have a comfortable life here. I don't want to see that disrupted by Votan power games."

"And why is that?"

"Because Datak won't survive them. He's meant for this town, for Tarr Industries. He's not meant to run an Empire." She shrugged, the political calculation in her eyes weakening. "I knew that when I wedded him; if I'd wanted to marry into an Empire, I could have."

"Why don't I just give you the Council seat?" Amanda asked. "Seems like you've schemed enough to earn it."

"My place is to lead from behind."

Amanda shook her head, frustrated and tired by the never ending gender roles of the Castithan race. "You're too smart for that. You don't ever want the opportunity to lead by someone's side, like an equal, Stahma?"

"Like yours?"

The question was abrupt, but Amanda's brief hesitation was the only confirmation Stahma needed to know that her point was accurate. She took a step forward, closing the space between them. "Yes, I do sometimes wish for that," she whispered, her words floating over Amanda's bare shoulder.

Amanda moved to cover herself, but Stahma pulled the scarf from her hand. "Your arm should be in a sling," she chastised. "I saw you favor it throughout dinner." A wind caught the wide scarf, wisping the deep blue fabric around her white dress. "Allow me."

"Stahma..." Amanda took a step backward, knowing what a simple touch had lead to earlier. Here, in Datak's own garden, she wouldn't have the luxury of indulging any of those lingering impulses.

"You're such a stubborn human," Stahma teased, taking Amanda's hand and moving her arm gently into position so that she could slip the scarf beneath it. Amanda's warmth always surprised her; she had flirted with enough Humans to note that their body temperature differed from her own, but Amanda's warmth was different, sweeter. She moved behind her, tying off the scarf against her neck and moving a few strands of blonde hair out of the way. "How is that?" she whispered, taking a moment to let her lips linger against skin.

For the second time that day, Amanda felt her own weakness spread through her like a sedative, numbing her rational senses. "Fine." She waited for Stahma's lips to move from behind her, but her breath still tickled her neck. "You're distracting me from what I'm supposed to be doing," she managed. "Or is that simply part of your plan?"

Stahma moved around her, the moonlight making her eyes almost transparent. The pretense was gone from her shoulders. "None of this was part of my plan."

"I think all of our plans went to shtako about twenty years ago," Amanda said, a peace offering of sorts. "New earth... new plans."

"Yes," Stahma concurred with a smile, although lately the new earth had brought her more than new plans. It had brought new feelings and new desires. "Come," she said, regaining her poise. "I'll walk back in with you, before both of our parties realize we're missing."

They walked side by side into the patio, the moon still visible through the glass walls, drawing Amanda's eye toward its glow. Stahma followed her gaze. "There was a star near Casti," she said, wistfully, recalling the pale blue-gray landscape of her home planet. "Full and ethereal, much like your moon, only it was constantly in the sky. It never faded. Nights like these, with the fullness of the moon, remind me of home."

"What was the name of the star?"

"Apayo. There were legends about it, all of them changing depending on who you spoke to. Some thought it was a land of magical creatures, others thought it was where souls went when they died. Of course, thanks to the scientific explorations of the Indogene, we know that it's a lot more boring than any of that: just a ball of glowing gasses, nothing magical." She smiled.

"You've heard about the man on our moon?" Amanda asked, glancing over at Stahma.

"One man?"

Amanda laughed. "It's a legend, too. If you look at the full moon, let your eyes relax, you can see the contours of a face." She stared up at it. "I used to tell Kenya that it was a long lost spirit, watching over us. She was too old to buy such shtako by then, but I still got some comfort out of it."

"Sometimes it's the oddest things that bring us comfort," Stahma said, her fingers lightly brushing Amanda's as they stood silently, staring out of the wide windows. This time, Amanda didn't avoid the touch, and instead let her fingers intertwine with Stahma's. They were behaving errantly, taking such a risk, but before Amanda's rational mind fully contemplated the gesture, the wide window pane in front of them blew inward with a piercing scream, sending shards of glass in on them. The pane behind them exploded next, violently raining down on them. Amanda, although shorter, moved to cover Stahma, wrapping an arm over her as a third pane blew. They crouched, unsure of where the next blow would come from, unbreathing until the room finally settled in stark, unsettling silence. Glass crunched beneath their feet, and Amanda raised her head, hearing shouts and the sound of running feet along the corridor. A cut lined Stahma's jawline, the blood starkly red against her pale skin.

"Are you okay?" Amanda asked breathlessly, pulling her scarf from around her arm and pressing it against the cut.

Her Castithan poise failing her, Stahma merely nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at the blown out windows around them. Rarely did the violence of her husband's world in the Hollows visit them at home, and her hands shook as she stood, her floor now a smattering of glinting glass. Datak appeared with several Collective representatives behind him. A scowl etched his face as he surveyed the damage, stomping over the glass as he reached for Stahma. "Are the two of you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on Amanda's arm as well.

Amanda nodded, already searching the floor around them for whatever had been thrown through the windows, but she saw nothing but broken glass. "I'm not sure what it was," she said, still disoriented, brushing glass from her hair.

"Let's get both of you upstairs," Datak said, placing a hand on the small of Stahma's back. "We'll take care of this."

"I'll call Nolan," Amanda offered, noticing a few small cuts on her hands as she reached for her hailer, only remembering as her fingers grazed the fabric of her dress that she wasn't wearing her usual holster. She spied her purse a few yards away, covered in glass.

"That won't be necessary," Datak said, his voice firm as he glanced at his fellow Votans.

"He can at least get statements from guests to see if anyone saw anything. Or perhaps your guards noticed something."

Datak was aware of the members of the Collective eyeing him, seemingly sucking his pride from his marrow with their hard stares. "Your Lawkeeper has his hands full at the moment, I'm certain. No need to bother him with petty things. I can handle this."

"Petty?" Stahma asked, baffled by his stoicism. She gestured at the destroyed patio. "Datak, this is - "

"Simply the price one pays living in a frontier town," Datak finished for her. "This is most likely the doing of a few rogue Spirit Riders or some of McCawley's miners looking to have a laugh. For now, we need to secure the premises and get both of you out of harm's way." He ushered Stahma to the entry foyer, but Amanda wasn't lead so easily.

She turned to him, yanking his arm with a bloodied hand. "I realize it's important for you to look the part of ambassador in front of the Collective, but it's just as imperative that they understand that Defiance is ruled by a set of laws, not vigilante Castithan customs."

Datak angled his back away from the Collective, leaning down to her. "I would advise you not to rock the boat here, Amanda. I deal with these matters on my own terms. Mayor Riordan understood that very well. I would hate to see you upset the balance that she worked for years to restore."

"I worked for her for eight years, Datak, I'm pretty familiar with the way she ran this town."

"I'm not talking about official agreements," he sneered. "I'm talking about unofficial understandings. Things that were decided behind doors that were closed to assistants and former janitors."

Stahma put her hand on Datak's arm, catching Amanda's eye and tacitly apologizing for her husband's hot headedness. "Datak, perhaps it's best if you work with Nolan on this."

"I think I know where the Human Lawkeeper's loyalty will lie," Datak replied.

"You don't know that Rafe McCawley or any of the miners had anything to do with this," Stahma pointed out gently, hoping to sway her husband's errant thoughts.

Although Amanda was adept at choosing her battles, her temper flared to match Datak's this time. "You should probably listen to your wife, Datak. She's a lot smarter than you." Stahma peered at the floor, unable to meet Datak's gaze and uncertain what would reflect in her own if she met Amanda's fiery eyes.

Datak glanced back at the men talking in a small circle among the blown out glass. "Summon your Lawkeeper if you must, but I won't be here to greet him." He turned, leaving Amanda standing open-mouthed behind him as he stepped back into the patio. Her frustration burst from her in the form of her closed fist pounding into the foyer wall, leaving a thin smear of blood on its white surface. "Shtako," she hissed.

"You temper is just as hot as his," Stahma whispered, keeping her eye on the group of men in the patio. She pulled another piece of glass from Amanda's hair. "I will talk with him, but it's best you let him settle this the Castithan way."

"I don't do business the Castithan way," Amanda hissed. "I do things the Defiance way." She crunched over to her clutch, picking it up. When she stood, she eyed each Castithan with a gaze as sharp as the glass beneath their feet. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure," she offered with a saccharine smile. "Please, handle your business." She looked at Datak. "And as Mayor, I will handle mine. I'll see myself out." She passed by them once more, her confidence fading by the second, so that only Stahma saw her exhale shakily as she closed the front door with a slam.

Datak shook his head, meeting Stahma back in the entryway, the corners of his eyes red with anger. "Shtako, this is the last thing I needed," he muttered, putting a hand to his jaw. "McCawley knew the Collective was visiting here tonight."

"So what if he did, Datak? You have more enemies in this town than Rage McCawley."

Datak ignored her question, suddenly intrigued by another thought. "What were you doing with her?"

"Who?"

"Amanda. In the garden."

"I was simply checking in with her to make sure she wasn't leaving the gathering before you had another chance to speak with her. She seemed rather taken aback by the way that you pressed her at dinner." When he didn't reply, she reached out to him. "I'm just trying to keep things as smooth as possible," she said.

"When did you turn so soft towards the Humans?" he asked her, reaching out to wipe a finger across the thin cut on her chin.

She resisted the urge to turn from his touch. "I'm not soft towards Humans," she assured him. As he turned back to the patio, Stahma's breath came steadier, and she climbed the stairs, only wanting to sink into a warm bath and rinse the violence of the evening from her memory. Datak was wrong; she had not softened toward Humans as a whole. Rather, it was one Human that had resolutely melted her.

* * *

**Still traveling - thank you for reading and for sharing your wonderful comments!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Lana flipped on her office light with her elbow, struggling to carry her satchel, a cup of morning tea, and a bundle of daily newspapers, all of which balanced precariously in her arms. Dumping her own things on her desk, she carried the morning's newspapers into Amanda's office, but halted at the sight of her boss, slumped over the expansive desk, her breathing slow and steady with the rhythm of sleep. An old leather-bound book lay open in front of her, and one hand was stretched across the pages, as absorbing whatever she needed to know through osmosis.

Lana set the papers silently onto the small conference table in the corner and crept out of the room, shutting the door behind her to block out the sounds of the wakening building: doors opening, elevators dinging.

A small pile of notes and directives perched on her own chair, a sign that Amanda had at least been productive before being overcome by exhaustion. Lana was half way through the stack when footsteps echoed off the stairwell, a heavy gait that Lana recognized, and her pulse quickened with an emotion that she usually wrote off as Human infatuation.

Nolan appeared on the landing in his usual uniform, his Lawkeeper badge pinned proudly to his jacket.

"Morning, Lana," he said with a smile that was meant only for the fairer sex. "Is the Lady Mayor in yet?"

Lana returned the smile, but it faded as Nolan went straight to Amanda's door. "Actually, the Mayor is - " she scrambled around her desk, but Nolan was already stepping into the room. "Wait just a second - " she tried again, but Nolan was inside, studying the sleeping Mayor with a smirk.

"Well, well, well," he said, glancing conspiratorially at Lana as he crept toward the desk. "I'm sure she won't mind if I give her a little wake up call."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lana whispered. Her training hadn't covered this particular sort of disturbance, but she was certain it would be far from welcomed.

Amanda's braid had come loose, and her blonde hair fanned across the pages of the the book. Nolan considered letting her sleep, but that would mean acknowledging the small tinge of affection he felt for her. Instead, he leaned over the desk, cupping his hand around his mouth, words already on the tip of his tongue. Amanda's hand shot abruptly forward, gripping Nolan's wrist. He barely managed a sound before a small pistol pointed directly beneath his chin. "Guess you don't need a wake up call, huh?" he asked uncomfortably, angling his chin away from the muzzle.

"Shtako," Amanda muttered, immediately letting him go and placing her pistol back in its hidden holster beneath her desk. Her instincts subsided and embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she rubbed the fog from her eyes. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Lana piped up from the doorway, eager to be helpful. "Seven-thirty." She took another look at Amanda's face, noting the tiredness that sagged under her eyes. "I'll brew some coffee and get your schedule. It's Constituent Day, remember?"

"Shtako," Amanda murmured again. "Is it too early for Scotch?"

"Only if you're an alcoholic," Lana returned. "I'll brew a strong batch and deliver it by IV, how's that sound?"

Amanda glanced at Nolan, her humor awakening, even if the rest of her body was slow to follow. "See why I hired her?"

"Ah, I thought it was because of her wonderful smile," Nolan charmed, waving at Lana as she left, but only earning an eye roll from Amanda. "I always wondered how the Lady Mayor spent her nights," he said, turning back to her. "Do you always sleep in your office?"

Amanda shuffled a few papers on her desk, hoping the action would make her appear more official than she felt, with sleep still nipping at her brain. "Do you always sleep at the NeedWant?" she retorted.

"Lately, yeah," Nolan said with a shrug, her crankiness clearly not bothering his conscience. "Are you normally this grouchy in the morning or are you sore because I'm sleeping with your sister?"

"What do you think?"

"Look, if I'd known you could handle a gun like that, I never would have touched her."

He grinned, which only made Amanda miss Clancy once again; she could count on one hand the number of times she had ever seen the old Lawkeeper smirk at her. "Yeah, well just remember that if you ever have the urge to hurt her."

Nolan had slept with enough women, many with their share of large, angry brothers, to recognize Amanda's protectiveness. "I'd be just as threatening if I had a sister."

"She's more than a sister to me," Amanda corrected. The years of running, worrying, and scrapping together enough to keep her sister fed and safe had at times stretched their bond as thin as wire, but each of them knew the only constant they had was each other. She met Nolan's eyes. "What Irisa is to you, that's what Kenya is to me. So don't fuck up."

Nolan raised both hands in surrender. "You got it, Mayor." He pointed at the book on the desk, eager to move onto something less personal. "I can see how this puppy would have put you to sleep. Find anything interesting?"

Amanda pulled the heavy volume over to them. "That artifact doesn't look like anything Human. It's got to be a Votan piece, but most of the seven races have been vigilant about collecting what's theirs after the Ark Falls." She looked up at him, pointing at a specific page. "Luke may have found an artifact from the extinct Eighth race, which is why whoever programmed Ben was after him."

Nolan glanced down at the page only briefly before deferring back to her. "Which means what?"

Amanda shrugged. "That's a good question."

"That's the only question."

"Tell me about it," she murmured. "Are you and Rafe going back down to the Old City today?"

Nolan nodded. "Yeah. I took another look at those maps, and I'm thinking that those scrappers that exploded for us the other day match the pinpoints on Ben's maps, which means they were planted planted there. According to Rafe, part of the mines back into the Old City. That's probably how Luke ended up with the piece in the first place. We'll start there today."

"Keep an eye out for Datak's lackeys lurking around when you and Rafe are out there. He somehow caught wind of our visit yesterday and brought it up in front of the Collective. The last thing I need is another party breathing down our necks. The Earth Republic is taking enough time and energy as it is."

"That have anything to do with why you don't want me questioning him about that explosion last night?"

"Do me a favor, Nolan, and don't worry about my motives, okay? All I need you to do is keep an eye out for any vigilante activity. His guys on the street are always looking for reasons to start shtako with the miners." A knock at the door cut off whatever counter argument Nolan was about to give, and Amanda was slightly grateful for the interruption. "Come in, Lana!" she called, turning to the tumbler of Scotch sitting atop a small table. "Perhaps it's not too early for a spiked coffee?" She swallowed her words as she glanced back at the door, holding the bottle of Scotch in her hand. "Shtako," she repeated for the third time that morning.

"I'm not one to judge your drinking habits," Doc Yewll said, walking briskly into the room, her gray coat swishing along her ankles. "But, your liver will."

"What can I do for you, Doc?" Amanda asked. She rotated her healing arm as much as she could without cringing. "I promise I'm taking care of myself."

Doc seemed mildly interested, appraising the movement with a terse nod, but she quickly moved on, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seeing as we don't have a Stasis Net and our radars are completely shot, I can't say this with one hundred percent certainty, but a belt of razor rain may be moving towards us."

Amanda swallowed, wishing she had opted for the Scotch, which would help alleviate the marble of fear currently forming at the back of her throat. Defiance hadn't seen razor rain in years, but the last storm had left the town in shatters, with more destruction and death than she cared to remember. "Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not," Doc replied evenly. "I don't have anything to confirm it with, but I've heard from colleagues in other cities of a razor belt along the Midwest that's moving East of the Storm Divide. If it keeps moving in the same direction, then that puts it right outside the Badlands in a little over a week."

"Without the Stasis or radar, what kind of lead time are we talking here?" Nolan asked. "How soon could you tell if it was coming at us?"

Doc cocked her head, tapping her foot as she calculated her response. "I'd say, given a clear day, we might have a twenty minute head start from the first visible sign of heavy metal."

"Damn it, that's not enough time," Amanda said, frowning. "That's barely enough time to get everyone into shelters." She moved to her desk, her fingers rustling furiously through a file drawer, her brow furrowed. "Lana!"

Lana poked her head into the office, her eyebrows raised. "That's your panicked voice," she observed, her pen already poised above the notepad she held.

"I'd really rather you refer to it as my 'authoritative' voice," Amanda corrected, adrenaline sucking the humor from her voice. "I need you to work with Doc to do whatever we need to do to get people prepared for a possible razor storm." She handed over a document, it's pages in pristine condition. "This is the emergency plan the Council approved last year. Start reaching out to the public affairs team to do run-around checks at schools, businesses, and farms. We've got to make sure roofs are razorproofed, shelters are stocked... whatever it takes."

Lana glanced at Doc, who appeared less than pleased to be partnered with anyone, much less an assistant, even if it was one from her own race. "You got it," she said, hoping to appease Yewll by demurring to her. "I'll follow your orders, Doc."

Doc nodded. "Then we should be able to work together just fine." She glanced between Amanda and Nolan, her blue eyes startlingly bright against the white sheen of her skin. "I suggest you also do whatever it takes to get the energy needed to repair the Net." She headed for the door, mumbling tersely under her breath as Lana scurried after her. "What's the use of staying in a frontier town if it's open to attack from the entire frontier?"

"She's right," Amanda said, rounding her desk. We're way too vulnerable without the Net." She headed back to the bottle of Scotch, this time pouring a small nip into a glass as she looked at Nolan. "You ever been through a razor storm before?"

"Sure have," he answered, extending his hand. "Which is why I'm going to need one of those, too."

Amanda poured another, handing it over to him. "I may have one last shot at repairing the Net without calling in the Earth Republic or the VC. But, the Council isn't going to like it."

"You don't seem like the type who cares what the Council thinks. What's your plan?"

Amanda bit her lower lip, hesitating. "Tarr Industries has the energy capabilities to harness what we need to restart the Net. If Datak agrees, we could repair it without the intervention of an outside power." She waited expectantly for Nolan's response, her face contorting with a sense of wounded pride as he merely laughed. "I see you don't think that's going to happen," she breathed, although she couldn't blame him.

Nolan didn't particularly know whether it would happen or not, but he definitely didn't think it was a good idea. His hailer buzzed at his waist, saving him from having to explain his skepticism. "Nolan," he said, swirling the golden liquid in his glass. His shoulders stiffened, and he made eye contact with Amanda, who could tell by his gaze that he was about to make her day much, much worse. When he hung up, he tossed back the contents of his glass in a quick gulp. "You're gonna need another drink," he said, smacking his lips.

"What happened?"

Nolan let the alcohol blaze through him before speaking. "The office over at McCawley Mines was ransacked last night. Nothing taken, as far as Rafe can tell, so the perp was either trying to send a message or look for something pretty important." He paused, tucking his hailer in his belt. "I don't know which, but after last night's explosion at your little politico dinner, I know exactly where to start investigating."

Amanda shook her head. "The last thing I need right now is for you to antagonize Datak without any evidence."

He stared at her, his mouth parting in curiosity. "Why is that, so you can get into bed with Tarr Industries?"

Amanda raised a stern finger at him. "First of all, bad metaphor. Second, all I'm asking you to do is hold off on drawing any conclusions. Backing Datak into a corner is no way to get him to cooperate regarding the Stasis Net, especially when the guy doing the backing is you." She paused. "Just head to Rafe's office and see what you find. Luke was killed because he had the artifact, so it makes sense that whoever had him killed would be looking for it."

"Whoever killed Luke may not have known that he had it," Nolan countered. "Otherwise, it makes sense that they would have kept him alive long enough to find it, rather than having to go on some wild goose chase." He could tell by Amanda's impatient exhale that she was ready to launch into another reasoning session, and he put up a placating hand. "I'll go to Rafe's, look around, and then head down into the mines with him. I'll give you a Hail after we take a look in the Old City again."

"Thank you."

Nolan eyed her rumpled, slept-in clothes. "You might want to put on something fresh for 'Constituent Day'. And if you're really looking to get the sympathy vote in the next election, definitely wear the sling."

"Thanks," Amanda replied, rolling her eyes, but she smiled. "Maybe after I get a real Lawkeeper, I'll hire you on as campaign manager."

Nolan gave her a wave over his shoulder as he exited, letting her have the last word. As far as he was concerned, he wasn't intent on ruining his post at Lawkeeper anytime soon. Defiance was turning into a town that gave him exactly what he needed: a steady paycheck and a little adventure.

* * *

Stahma nodded demurely at the security guard outside her door, who had seen fit to settle himself on top of the row of Terrazalias she had planted no more than a week ago. His mere presence rankled her, stoking the fear in her stomach that had reverberated since the explosion. It was a fear that she didn't particularly like, as it made her feel powerless, and at that moment she decided to take her inadequacies out on the guard currently trampling her flowers. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, walking up to him. "Do you see these?" She gestured to the row of wilted foliage.

The young guard pushed a lock of white hair behind his ear and looked down lackadaisically, nodding. "What about them?"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't sit on them."

He eyed her carefully, as if trying to determine whether he should take her seriously, but only grinned, plucking one of the still standing flowers from its root and handing it to her. "With all due respect, Lady Tarr, I have bigger things to worry about than your flowers. But, I'll do my best."

"Yes, I suppose you do," Stahma said, taking a step closer to him, too close, even by the standards of her own race. She spoke in fast, heated Castithan. "Perhaps, I should have worded my request differently: if you so much as harm another petal on my flowers, I will personally see to it that you're not only let go from this position, but that you spend your severance plucking thorns out of your eyeballs."

The guard's lips parted in surprise as she turned from him, her face burning with anger and a touch of shame, her emotions so rarely getting the best of her. She made her way toward the street, not bothering to look back, hoping the morning walk would be a sojourn from the unease surrounding her home. The morning walks had been a routine for years, giving her entree into the lives of those considered below her caste. Although the New Earth had modified their ways, Castithans were still rooted in the old norms of separation, the gulf between the classes just as wide as it was on Casti.

The market was Stahma's favorite, as she rarely ventured into it to purchase anything of need; Ashma handled the shopping for the Tarr household. Even the sounds of the place struck her: voices bargaining, wheels squeaking along the narrow pathways, axes chopping through large slabs of meat. She relished this cacophony of survival, considering how quiet her home had become over the years, now that Alak spent most of his time away and Datak spent a larger share of his time in the Hollows.

A booth of sweets stole her attention, the smell of honey and warm bread floating through the morning air. Two children, a boy and a girl, stood staring up at the warm flatbread as it came off the hot stone, and they watched, mesmerized, as the woman manning the sweltering contraption swirled honey across the bread before folding it over. Stahma stepped towards her, glancing down at the boy, who licked his lips, seemingly unaware of her presence. "Two, please," she said to the woman, waiting patiently as she repeated the process once more. When she handed them over, Stahma turned to the children beside her, gesturing them forward. "For you," she said with a smile, watching as they looked at each other once, confirming their good fortune, before reaching for the warm bread, their faces now gleaming.

"Kahla! Talar!" A woman moved through the crowd, a heavy satchel stretched over her torso, weighted with the cheapest of fruits and vegetables. "What are you doing?" she reprimanded, but stopped short at Stahma.

"I hope it's all right," Stahma explained, motioning to the bread they were eating.

The woman's voice no longer held the authority it had a moment ago. "Of course, Lady Tarr." She snipped the boy on the shoulder. "Say thank you," she said quickly.

"Thank you," the boy repeated, his mouth full, and his younger sister followed suit. Their mother looked back up at Stahma, fear, more than gratitude, illuminating her gaze. "We won't be late with payment again. I know my husband was late this quarter - I - I'm sorry."

Stahma shook her head in confusion, sourness pooling at the back of her throat. "I know nothing of that," she assured her. "I simply wanted to treat them." The woman nodded again, but the words didn't register, as she merely pulled her children along with her, leaving Stahma to stare after them.

The shopkeeper sucked her lips, staring disapprovingly as they walked away. "Casti trash. Scared of their own shadows."

Stahma felt the need to speak up for the woman, the smell of honey now too sweet, clenching her throat. "I simply surprised her, that's all. Kindness is not something she comes across every day, I'm certain."

"Welcome to the real earth," the shopkeeper muttered before turning her attention back to her dough, kneading it forcefully.

Stahma said nothing and moved on, this time walking away from the markets. As she passed the diner, she caught a glimpse of Christie McCawley inside one of the windows, her head bent over a table. Stahma stared for a moment, watching her walk across the small space, stopping at another table before moving to the cash register. Some latent curiosity propelled her up to the front entrance, and she tucked her tall frame inside the small door, the smells of Human eggs and bacon wafting towards her, but not igniting her appetite. Christie greeted her, surprised, but managed a wave before turning her attention back to her customer. Stahma felt immediately foolish, the boxcar feeling suddenly small and claustrophobic. She turned to leave, but a soft voice called out to her.

"I didn't expect to see you here." Stahma followed the voice to where Kenya sat at a corner table, a cup of tea steeping in front of her. Stahma nodded politely at her, content to move on, but Kenya spoke again. "The eggs are atrocious, but they do have a good selection of Casti teas." She paused before gesturing to the seat across from her. "Would you care to join me?"

It was an invitation, but also a challenge, and Stahma walked over to her and sat, perching gingerly on the edge of a chair. She had spoken in passing with Kenya throughout the years, but their politeness grew thinner as business at the NeedWant burgeoned. Even still, Kenya always spoke during the brief moments when their paths inevitably crossed, though Stahma was certain her path crossed her husband's much more often than her own.

Kenya gestured to a spread of paperwork that fanned the table. "The only way I can truly get any work done is when I get out of the office. Makes it feel more like a treat than a chore." As she collected the papers into a haphazard pile, Stahma's eye caught a familiar green logo on one of the pages.

"Is that the Affinity School Garden Fund?" she asked, nodding toward it.

"It is," Kenya replied. "I couldn't resist donating. Anonymously, of course. I learned my lesson the last time I tried to personally take a check to the school. Apparently even liberals don't take kindly to taking money from a sex club owner." She shrugged, unbothered. "You know of it?

"I'm on the Fundraising Committee," Stahma said with a knowing smile. "I would have definitely taken your money."

Kenya chuckled. "Smart woman." She took a sip of her tea, eyeing Stahma over its rim. "But, you don't have any children at the school anymore... do you?"

Stahma shook her head, wishing she had her own cup of tea. "No, Alak was our only. But, the school is something Defiance can take much pride in. I wish Alak had the same opportunity to interact with Humans when he was a child. It's amazing how far we've come in so few years." She smiled, eyeing Christie. "Not that he has any trouble fitting in with Humans." She picked up the laminated menu laying at the side of the table, contemplating a cup of tea. "And I have a... green thumb," she said, stumbling only slightly over the Human idiom. "There is a ceremony this week, celebrating the opening. You should come."

Kenya appreciated the gesture, but shook her head. "I'll stick to supporting the kids and their causes from the sidelines. A girl can only handle so much judgment." An uncomfortable silence passed between them, weighted by the one thing they had in common: Datak. Kenya's spoon clinked against her porcelain mug as she stirred her tea, eyeing an old coffee stain blotched on the white tablecloth. "Stahma, this may be a bit forward," she began, treading territory that she hadn't broached with the wives of other men. "But, I want to tell you that Datak is absolutely lovely. I appreciate that you allow him to share himself with the other girls at the NeedWant." She stared boldly, but not unkindly. "Not many wives are as generous as you."

The acknowledgment, coated in a sincere kindness, broke the ice between them even further, and Stahma gave an understated smile. "Men have their needs. You have an old saying here... 'It takes a village...?'"

Kenya laughed, surprised at her humor, which, as far as she knew, wasn't a trait she found often in Castithan women. "Yes, I hadn't quite thought of it in that way, but I guess you're right." Stahma smiled, content that she held her own secrets from Kenya, which helped buttress any pride lost by her husband's affair with her. "You're so much more approachable than the other wives," Kenya continued. "They generally don't even look at me when I pass them on the street. You'd think they'd be use to it by now. Oldest profession on Earth and all."

"It's the oldest profession in the galaxy," Stahma corrected. "But, it's a profession that frightens most people," she said. "That's what their judgment is: fear."

"New Earth, same rules," Kenya agreed with a sigh. "But, hey, it's not like I'm running for Mayor or anything." She laughed at her own joke. "Although, I do plan on putting in a good word or two for Amanda while I'm working. I lose enough votes for her with the women, I can at least make it up with their husbands."

Stahma felt a flush creep up her neck, glad that it was covered by her cloak. "Well, Amanda has her charms," she replied slowly. "Enough to win Datak's endorsement in the election, I'm certain." She paused, unable to pass up on the well of information that sat in front of her, eager to explore the past that Amanda kept so guarded. "Amanda raised you, is that correct?"

Kenya's eyes darkened, but she quickly composed herself. "She did, yeah. She was two parts nagging mother, one part distant father."

"Your parents died in the war?"

"They did," Kenya answered, studying Stahma, who seemed genuinely curious. Datak was more than open during their sessions at the NeedWant, so much so that she knew his feelings about Alak's engagement, and somehow, she wanted to tacitly make it up to his wife. "My father died in the Siege of Manhattan..." She paused, her nail running over the rim of her mug. "My mother... I'm not exactly sure how she died." She refilled her mug with the small kettle of hot water, thankful when Christie stepped up to them.

"It's good to see you, Mrs. Tarr," she said warmly, setting a cup of tea on the table in front of her. Stahma hadn't requested it, but she smiled at the gesture.

"It's good to see you as well, Christie. I hope to see you soon at our house for dinner. Datak and I would love to host you." It was only half a lie, but it still required energy to smile up at her son's fiancé, who beamed down at her with an innocence only a Human girl could possess.

"I'll tell Alak to make it happen," she said, seemingly pleased with their encounter. She exhaled patiently, glancing at the cafe door as another party entered. "And, duty calls," she said, waving politely at them as she returned to work.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Kenya asked, her blue eyes curious. Datak discussed his own past during their sessions, but Stahma's past remained a mystery.

"No," Stahma said quickly, the lie sticking in her throat. She took a fast, hot sip of her tea, washing down memories that resurfaced only when she was alone, when thoughts of Casti and the life she lead there crept into her consciousness. Pressure built behind her eyes, and she lowered them, unexpected grief trampling through her. She cleared her throat, struggling to smile up at Kenya. "I hate to cut this short, but I must be on my way," she said, sifting through her small purse for change. The touch of Kenya's hand caught her off guard, and she almost jerked from the touch.

"Please, let me get this," Kenya offered. "Thank you for talking with me."

Stahma smiled at her, suddenly envious of her confidence. "Thank you," she returned, rising from her seat. She took a step away, but turned back, Amanda's name on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't dare say it. "Please tell your sister that I said hello." With a last nod, she stepped out into the dry air, which felt suddenly good against her clammy skin. On her way home, she avoided eye contact with the townspeople, walking faster than usual, eager to get away from the memories that Kenya had so inadvertently stoked.

* * *

Amanda's smile stretched thinly on her face, having been employed consistently for the past several hours as she listened to constituents complain about everything from the price of gulagas to the unusually dry summer. She simply nodded and sympathized, waiting for someone to mention something she actually had control over, but by the end of the day, she was convinced no one in the town actually knew what the Mayor's post entailed. Lana appeared at her office door, another cup of coffee in her hand. "I love the people of this town," Amanda said, but leaned into her assistant, lowering her voice. "But, is the day over yet?"

"Not quite," Lana replied with a smile. "There's one last visitor here to see you."

Amanda sighed heavily. "Fine." She plastered a smile back on her face. "Send them in."

"This one should be a bit easier than the others," Lana said over her shoulder as she made her way to the lobby.

"No need to plaster on a smile for me." Nicky appeared in the doorway, her white hair in fine wisps, like a cloud around her head. Amanda smiled, surprised, but a familiar sense of comfort settled in her stomach as she embraced the former Mayor. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Because, you would have gone to the trouble of securing a room at the hotel and all this other hobgob, and there's no need for it. I'm not even staying the night." Nicky tugged gently at the tail of Amanda's braid, an old habit. "I just wanted to grab a few last things and then I'll be out of your hair."

"I thought you were in the North for your book tour," Amanda said, motioning for her to take a seat.

Nicky settled on the couch, throwing a confident hand over the back of it. "I had a lull in the schedule and wanted to see how you were doing." Her small eyes darkened with a fleeting guilt. "I would have been here right after the Volge attack, but the transportation gods didn't see fit to let me land a coach."

Remorse flickered through Amanda's eyes as she took a seat on the couch next to Nicky, the memory of the battle still too close for her to view it with any emotion other than grief. "We lost a lot of good men and women in that battle."

"And I heard that you fought in it as well. You're taking the title commander in chief quite literally, my dear."

"What else could I do? I can't ask people to do something that I wouldn't."

Nicky admired the resolve in Amanda's eyes. "Why the Volge? Who the hell would put them up to such a thing?"

"I don't know." Amanda glanced sideways at Nicky, wondering whether she should unload her burdens on her, now that she had moved on into a more serene, post-Mayoral life. "What do you know about the eighth Votan race?"

Nicky was surprised by the question, her eyebrows raising. "Not much. I know they've been extinct since the first Arkfall. And that they were probably extinguished aboard the Arks after a disagreement among the races. Other than that, there hasn't been much to go on." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I don't know why," Amanda replied, getting back to her feet, pacing in front of the couch. "All I have are questions at the moment. The answers are much harder to come by."

"Do you have reason to suspect the Earth Republic or the Collective?" Nicky angled her head at Amanda. "That could be why that E-Rep has been snooping around."

"I haven't let them get any closer than normal. The E-Reps or the Collective, for that matter. Not even to repair the Stasis Net."

"Well, my opinion doesn't matter anymore," Nicky began, watching her protege move back and forth in front of her. "But, in my experience, the Earth Republic, once it's had its invitation, doesn't ask for anything after that. It simply takes it. You're an enterprising woman. You'll find a way."

"I don't mean to rail on about the town's troubles," Amanda said with a wave of her hand. "You left this post for a reason."

"I may have left Defiance, but I didn't leave you." Nicky smiled sadly. "But, there are bigger things than this office. It was time to retire. Time to move on."

Amanda nodded, but Nicky had been the one stable force in her life for the past eight years, and having her gone, especially at such a tough time, was difficult. "There's an election coming up, you know," she reminded her. "Depending on the outcome, I may be retiring sooner than you think."

"Retirement isn't an option for you," Nicky corrected with a wistful smile. "This town needs you, Amanda. More than you know."

Amanda shook her head slightly, used to Nicky's accolades, but this one struck her differently. Her phone vibrated, Rafe's name popping up on the screen, and her thoughts immediately jumped back to business. "I need to get this," she explained apologetically, but Nicky gave an understanding wave of her hand.

"Duty calls," she said, motioning for Amanda to answer. "Literally."

"Rosewater," Amanda said with a smile, walking toward the window. Nicky made her way to the credenza, where she picked up a small hourglass, flipping it over and studying the sand as it shifted down. It was the one thing that Amanda had requested that she leave behind, and Nicky had been more than willing, as the passing of time was now a mere reminder of the inevitable. She fingered the small transmitter in her pocket, its mere presence a reminder of her betrayal. It would fit quite snugly in the small dome of the hourglass, but she clutched it tightly in her hand, failing, for the moment, at the one thing she had come to accomplish.

"Is Nolan on his way back to the office?" Amanda said into the phone, her eyes narrowing in anger as she turned. She pursed her lips, putting a hand to her temple as she hung up the hailer. "That smug little shtak," she muttered, exhaling in order to control her anger as she stepped over to Nicky. "I'm going to have to cut our visit short," she said, her temper wavering beneath her cool facade.

"It always takes a little time for a new Lawkeeper to settle in," Nicky said, taking a short breath as she pulled her hand from her pocket. "Took eleven months before Clancy would even look me in the eye. I said it was because I was a woman, he said it was because I wasn't a man." She shrugged, smiling up at Amanda. "You go. I'm just going to grab a few more boxes from the closet. Lana will see me out."

Amanda wasn't pleased at having their talk interrupted, wanting to prolong the sense of safety she felt with Nicky beside her. "I wish you'd stay a bit longer," she said, smiling away her anxiety at once again being left alone in a position she wasn't confident she should even have.

Nicky saw the wavering confidence, and swallowed back a sudden wave of emotion. "My dear," she said softly, brushing the tip of her braid once more. "I am going to miss you. Remember, I chose you for a reason." She smiled. "Now go show your Lawkeeper who wears the pants in this town."

Amanda gathered her holster and keys, waving once over her shoulder. Nicky watched as her blonde braid disappeared out the door, fingering the transmitter that still weighed guiltily in her pocket. Pulling it out, she walked back over to the credenza, knowing that she would likely never see her favorite protege again.

* * *

The broken glass and hanging shards had been cleared away, but the plastic sheeting surrounding the Tarr's patio afforded no clear view of the garden. Stahma stood, staring at the flowers and vines, the makeshift covering blurring them into nothing more than shapes. Datak, for his part, didn't seem to mind, as he had been more concerned with convincing the Collective of his ability to control the town rather than comfort his family or bother with scheduling repairs. Judging from the angry phone calls coming from his home office, he had been less than successful. Stahma held her knitting basket on her arm, but the desire to do anything creative was distilled by the unease settling over the house.

A car engine roared from the front, breaking Stahma's train of thought, but it was the sudden yelling at the front door that lurched her forward. Plucking the pair of shears from her basket, she dropped it, fear pulsing in her neck as she ran toward the entryway, her dress swishing along her bare feet. Datak stood just outside of the open door, his hand brandishing his lightfire knife. The security guard was slumped on the ground, Nolan standing above him, his hand still curled into a fist. Stahma attempted to pull Datak back, but he shrugged out of her grip. "Stahma, back inside," he commanded.

She took a step backwards, but stayed just inside the door. Nolan nodded up at her. "Sorry for the commotion," he said, jerking his thumb at the guard. "But your butler here isn't very welcoming."

Datak took a step forward, breathing hard to control his anger. "Your timing is a bit off, seeing as how any need for a Lawkeeper occurred last night, when my family was attacked. Do you want to tell me what you're doing here?"

Nolan stared back at him, his lips pursed in a hard, fine line. "Heard anything about a break-in at the McCawley Mines?"

Datak gave him a knowing smile, tacitly answering his question. "Rafe McCawley should learn how to lock his office doors."

"What break-in?" Stahma asked, but she was silenced by Datak's glance.

Neither Datak nor Nolan had time to answer her, as a roller peeled up behind the Lawkeeper's dodger, its wheels grinding gravel before coming to a squealed stop. Amanda hurled herself out of the car, her anger almost as palpable as Datak's as she walked up to them, fearless, despite the fact that she was the only one without a weapon.

"Ah, Amanda," Datak called, refusing to call her by her title. "Come to wrangle your Lawkeeper?" He took another step toward Nolan, squaring off in front of him. "Perhaps you should keep him on a shorter chain."

Amanda darted a look at Nolan as she stepped gingerly between the two of them, her hands up in surrender. "What the hell happened?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the unconscious guard.

"He's just taking a break," Nolan replied easily, avoiding Amanda's stern stare. He was hoping to get his visit to Datak out of the way before she caught wind of it, certain she'd rip him a new shtakhole if she knew what he was up to; judging by the rage flickering behind her eyes, he was right. "I just wanted to ask ol' Datak here if he'd heard anything about the break-in last night. I always appreciate any opportunity to talk criminal to lawkeeper."

"Need I remind you that my home was attacked last night?" Datak spat, gesturing to Stahma. "My wife could have been seriously hurt." His pale eyes locked onto Amanda. "Not to mention, your Mayor. What I fail to understand is why you show up at my home and rail accusations at me."

Nolan didn't take the bait. "You didn't want my office helping you last night, Datak, so don't pull that shtako. What I'd like to know, is where you were last night? My guess is you were either in the Hollows, running an illegal gambling ring, or at McCawley mines office illegally breaking and entering. So which is it, Datak?"

"He was with me," Stahma said quickly, stepping onto the front stairs. Three pairs of eyes turned on her, but the gaze that stung most was Amanda's, her earth-colored eyes staring almost accusingly at her before they darted to the ground.

"Oh yeah?" Nolan asked, unbelieving. He'd seen Datak pass some late hours in the Hollows, and even later ones at the NeedWant. "You keep one eye open while you're sleeping, is that it?"

"I didn't have to," Stahma answered curtly. "Datak doesn't give a wife much time to sleep. I can attest that he was with me the entire night."

Datak glanced back at her, grateful for his wife's lie. He grinned confidently at Nolan. "I'm sure you'll spare my wife from going into any further detail. Otherwise I'd take that as a sign of disrespect, not only to me, but to her."

Amanda, for one, needed no more detail, and she spoke up, her words clipped. "Nolan, I think you're done here." She turned to look at him, her face hardened. "You got what you needed, right? An alibi?"

Nolan's jaw flexed, biting back a remark, but he nodded. "My deputies are going to be crawling all over the Hollows," he said darkly. "That's a promise, Datak." He brushed past Amanda as he walked to his Dodger, giving her the slightest apologetic tilt of his head. "See you later, Boss," he said, giving a feint salute.

Amanda made no move toward her own roller, instead turning back to Datak. The security guard at his feet moaned, stirring slightly.

"Stahma, would you get this luss a towel?" he said, tipping the security guard's boot with his own heel. "He's bleeding all over your flowers."

Stahma turned reluctantly from them, catching Amanda's eye briefly, too briefly to communicate anything but chagrin. Amanda took a step closer to Datak, wishing she could erase the imagery Stahma had provoked. "I have a proposition for you."

Datak peered down at her from the upper step. "I thought that was your sister's business." He laughed as he moved down to her level, coming to a stop in front of her, his pale blue eyes glowing. "You'll excuse my humor. I couldn't resist."

Amanda balled her fists at her sides, struggling to keep her diplomatic demeanor. "I'm going to offer you a deal. And seeing as how you've got no allies left in the Collective after last night, I see it as your only way of making any continued headway in this town."

He appeared interested, or at the least amused. "Go ahead."

"You provide the energy to repair the Stasis Net. You get the gratitude of this administration and the people of this town. Tarr Industries finally asserts itself as a valiant, honorable business, and thus you become an honorable, valiant man. Who has the potential to be elected to the Council."

Datak studied her for a moment, giving her some hope that her proposal had intrigued him, but his laughter cut into her hopes like glass. "You must take me for a fool," he said. "And that, in some regard, makes me a fool, doesn't it?"

"What are you talking about? I'm giving you an opportunity, Datak."

"No, you're giving me scraps," he spat. "You expect me to accept this 'opportunity', as you call it, without even a promise of a seat on the Council? If I were a Human, or an Indogene, or any race that you people think you have conquered and controlled, you would give me my due. But instead, you simply want to string me along for your own purposes, so that you can get reelected."

"Datak, I've got a town full of people recovering from a battle and vulnerable to another at any time. The last thing on my mind is politics."

"If that's the case, then why not sell out to the Earth Republic? Or why not strike a deal with the Collective when I offered you the chance?" He didn't give her time to respond. "Perhaps it's because you think I am easier to control."

"That's not true."

"Take your offer elsewhere."

"Where?" Amanda asked heatedly. "Datak, you fought alongside us against the Volge, you know how vulnerable Defiance is without the Net. We can't even detect razor storms right now, much less intruders."

"I will not help you repair your Stasis Net. You find a way to do it on your own."

Amanda stared at him with a hatred she didn't realize she could contain, her eyes hardening against him. "You are a disgrace to this town and to your family," she said lowly.

Stahma stepped back onto the stoop, carrying a small towel that she handed down to the now alert guard, who took it wobbly, pressing it against his nose. Amanda was furious, the vein in her neck bulging, her face reddening. Datak leaned into her, his mouth inches from her face. "And you're a disgrace to your former Mayor," he hissed. "You belong at the bottom, where you came from. And you will fail."

Stahma blanched at the words, but Amanda only swallowed, turning silently from both of them. Stahma's first urge was to go after Amanda, but she managed to perch silently on the step, her heart following where her words could not. Datak merely sidled by her, his brow furrowed. "What was that about?" she asked, shutting the door, locking herself back into the marriage that no longer held the magnetism that it once did.

"It was about this leadership's complete disrespect," Datak answered, telling her nothing. "They fall over themselves catering to Rafe McCawley and those bloody mines, when they should be bowing down to me. Tarr Industries is what will lead this town in the New Earth, not gulanite."

Ashma appeared from the back hallway, carrying a small parcel in her hand. "Your Grace, this was at the back gate. It's addressed to you."

Datak took it from her, cursing under his breath. "That fucking guard is gone as of this minute. Good for nothing shtak." He peered into the package, pulling out a small note. "Where did you say you found this?" he mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" Ashma asked, leaning into him.

He grabbed her wrist. "Who gave this to you?"

"Datak - " Stahma said, his behavior rattling her, and she moved forward to loosen his grip, but he had already threw Ashma's hand away from him.

"No one, Master," Ashma said quickly, her eyes tearing with either fear or embarrassment. "It was simply left at the back gate. I came across it when I watered the garden this afternoon."

"What do I pay these guards for!" Datak yelled, heading for his office without a word.

Stahma turned to Ashma, her eyes already apologizing. "I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Why don't you go home, Ashma, and take tomorrow? I'll make sure you're paid for the hours." Ashma said nothing, but merely nodded, her lower lip trembling slightly as she turned to go, leaving Stahma alone in the front entryway. She made her way to Datak's office, knocking, but didn't wait for a response before walking inside.

Datak looked up at her, shoving his hand back into the small parcel that had been left for him. "Don't start, Stahma."

"Fine, then why don't you start, Datak?" she said heatedly, her arms crossing over her chest. "You can start by telling me what is going on around here."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"That's not good enough, Datak."

He stared up at her, daring her to say something else. "It's not good enough?" he repeated, getting to his feet and rounding the desk, his wife's questioning simply an echo of his own misgivings. "Is this house not good enough, then? Is the food we eat not good enough? The wine that we drink not good enough?"

"What?"

Datak rounded his desk, staring at her as if he wanted to penetrate her. "Am I not good enough for you?"

Stahma was getting nowhere by accusing him, and instead she took his hand, a gesture she hadn't made in awhile, forgetting the toughness of his skin. "I chose you, Datak. Remember?"

He lowered his head, and when he looked at her again, his eyes were not their usual fiery blue, but softer. "You wanted a distraction from what you were leaving behind, do you remember that? Isn't that why you chose me?"

"No," she whispered, her words like ice on her tongue. "I chose you because you were different. You were a breath of new air. And because we were going to come here and start something new, something of our very own. We did that, Datak, together."

He dropped her hand, cupping her jaw, his hands tougher than she remembered. "And with the nuclear plant, we can start something even better, my dear."

"How? I thought the Collective was pulling out."

He raised the envelope. "Fortune has shone upon us once again. We may have another backer."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. "Who?"

"An old friend," he said lightly.

"You don't have 'old friends', Datak, you have old enemies." Her suspicion mounted again, the spark behind his eyes fueled by power, not well-being. "Why can't you simply work with Rafe McCawley to upgrade the mines? With the new rail lines running through Defiance the two of you could make a fortune and build upon each other rather than tearing each other down every second."

"Enough, Stahma." He stood, pocketing a small data chip from the envelope and placing it in the safe behind his desk.

"Don't speak to me like a mere Casti wife," Stahma said slowly. "That's not how this marriage works. Are you forgetting how much work I put into Tarr Industries? The nights I helped you sift through regulations and organic equations that you couldn't decipher if your ark ticket depended on it?"

His pale eyes held hurt, rather than anger, and Stahma knew she went too far. She watched as he closed off, his entire body stiffening against her. "I've got business to handle, Stahma. Don't wait up."

"Business at the NeedWant?" she asked, surprised by her indolence. Datak's trips to the NeedWant were no secret, but they were never discussed between the two of them. In this vein, he treated her like any other Castithan wife.

"That depends," he said, walking close to her, his whisper as cold as ice. "Would you rather get on your knees right now and handle such business yourself?".

She met his eyes, unwilling to look down or mimic the subservient wife he seemed to want. "I was under the impression you wanted a wife, not a whore."

"And I was under the impression you wanted a husband, not a business partner." He straightened, studying her. "You seem to want to walk in my shoes, to make my decisions, but you have no idea what goes into it. The stress that comes with ensuring that this family thrives, even when we've been set up on this New Earth to fail. The stress of ensuring that Alak doesn't go through what I had to go through to get to the top."

"Have you forgotten that I've been with you all this time? That I've been by your side?"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" he asked, straightening his jacket. "You've been by my side, but perhaps it's time you stay behind me." He walked into the hallway, leaving her behind in his office, but she followed.

"Datak, I am not the same wife that you married twenty years ago. But, you are not the husband that I married."

"No," he said, turning back to her. "I'm much more powerful than the weak husband you married. It's time you awakened to that." He left, yanking the door open and disappearing into the dusk, leaving Stahma to sink against the wall. She bristled as she caught Alak watching her from the stairwell. "Alak," she said, brightening her face with a pretend smile. "Would you like to join me for dinner and a bath?"

He seemed truly apologetic as he looked back at her, his eyes filled with a pity that made her feel worse than Datak's words could have ever made her feel. "I told Christie I'd meet her after her shift."

"Go," she said with a forced smile, choking back the anger and remorse leftover from her argument with Datak. "Every woman craves a night on her own now and again. Tell Christie I said hello."

"You sure?" he asked, taking a step toward her, but the sudden light dawning in his eyes only told her that he wanted to leave.

"Of course," she assured him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders so that he couldn't see the frown she was no longer able to hide. "I'll be fine." She squeezed him tightly, pressing against him. She let him go, reluctantly walking into the kitchen, a mere distraction from having to actually watch him leave. Once again, she was alone.

* * *

Amanda stared down at her empty scotch glass, the din of the NeedWant finally tunneling into the background, allowing her thoughts to finally hone in on the one thing that had flustered her since leaving Datak's.

_"He was with me."_

Rationally, Amanda knew she should focus on more important matters, such as just who sent the Volge to attack her town or how she would repair the Stasis Net without any available resources, but those words kept looping in the back of her mind. They unsettled her, destabilizing her confidence in her ability to do anything, much less lead a town from an unknowable enemy.

"My god, Amanda, you look terrible." Kenya's voice floated toward her from the other end of the bar as she walked towards her, repinning her hair from an earlier encounter in her bedroom. "Clearly, you didn't come here for a woman."

"No, I came here for a drink," Amanda replied, resting her head on her hand as she nodded to her empty glass. "Who were you just with in there?" she asked.

Kenya eyed her warily as she poured another shot into her glass. "Number one, that's confidential information, and second, you've never once cared about who my clients are..." she narrowed her eyes. "Are you okay, or are you just being drunk and judgmental?"

Amanda felt the slow creep of paranoia dipping into her brain. "If you see anyone around here that you don't recognize, I want you to tell me about it, okay?"

Kenya smirked at her. "Women and men, or just women?" Her smile eased when Amanda didn't return it, stress creasing the corners of her eyes. "You got it," she said quietly, sliding a glass to her. "I thought I would hear from you last night. You'd think if you survived a gulaworks explosion, you'd give your only sister a call, right?"

"How did you know - ?" Amanda cut herself short, realization dawning with a frown. "Ah, right. You were with Nolan when I called him." Kenya stared at her the only way a younger sister could, eliciting guilt when there was none to be found. "Okay, I'm sorry I didn't call. But, I'm fine." She smiled, as if proving her point.

"Are you going to run for another term when this one is up?"

"Are you going to tell me all the reasons why I shouldn't run?"

"I shouldn't have to," Kenya insisted. "Look at everything that's happened since you took office. Why would you want to go through this for another two years?" Amanda's idealism had always confounded her; it was meant for another Earth, not the one they had to survive in.

"I don't need a reminder that things turned to shtako right when I took office," Amanda muttered with a shake of her head as the scotch burned through her. "And when's the last time my feelings on your job made any difference?"

"When's the last time my job almost got me killed?"

Amanda pursed her lips. "Remember calamari guy?"

"That was a freak accident."

"Freak is right."

"You could use some freak in your life." Kenya laughed, signaling a truce, if only for the time being. Amanda was stubborn and steadfast, and even more so after a drink. "In case your gaydar has rusted over from years of unuse, I'd be happy to point out some potentials," Kenya offered, motioning toward the other end of the bar.

"I just want a half hour to sit quietly at a bar, is that too much to ask?" Amanda pleaded, her lips upturning in a pleading smile.

Kenya's eyes brushed over her head, eyeing something behind her. "Apparently, yes."

Amanda followed her gaze, but didn't have to search for long, as Nolan took a seat beside her with a deep sigh. "I'll have what she's having," he said, gesturing to Amanda's drink while taking Kenya's hand and giving it a soft kiss. Amanda watched, amused by his antics. "I'll go grab a small batch from downstairs," Kenya offered. "It's spikier. You'll like it."

Amanda watched, open-mouthed as her sister left. "And I wouldn't?" she asked, her question hanging in mid air as Kenya walked away. She looked over at Nolan for a brief second before turning her head. "You want to tell me why the hell you decided to directly defy my order this afternoon? Or would you rather me fire you first?"

Nolan glanced at her. "First, you're not going to fire me." He watched Amanda raise her eyebrows. "You're not going to fire me because I'm the only one in this town who you can actually talk to without pulling all that political nonsense." He raised a finger. "Second, I wanted Datak to know I was watching him. He's been allowed to run this town too long."

"He doesn't run this town," Amanda pressed, turning her body toward him to emphasize her point. "I do."

"And you run it swimmingly," Nolan replied cheekily. "So, tell me, did he take the offer about the Stasis Net?"

"Why would he take the offer after the way you showed up?" she asked. "I'm just going to have to go back to the Council and ask them to reconsider their motion on bargaining with the Earth Republic. I've got no other choice at this point."

"Or, you could give Datak time to cool off, and offer him something in return later down the line."

"I don't have that kind of time," Amanda reminded him. "I'm not taking any chances if there's a razor storm heading our way. This town means too much to me to put it in that kind of danger."

"Does the town really mean that much to you?" Nolan asked, looking over at her. "Or are you just deathly afraid to fail as Mayor?"

Amanda didn't reply, his question hitting too close to home. "Did you believe his alibi?" she asked instead, almost afraid of the answer. She never got one, as Kenya appeared back behind the bar, a small bottle in her hand. She poured Nolan a glass and automatically refilled Amanda's.

"Ah, this is good," Nolan said, pleased. "I say you bring this upstairs."

Kenya smiled sweetly at him, but shook her head. "Sorry, Lawkeeper, but I'm working tonight."

"All night?"

"All night."

Nolan's smile disappeared for a moment, but flared back, like a flickering light. "Well, then, I guess I'll have to find someone else." He winked, and Kenya responded with a coy cock of her head and a batting of her eyelashes.

Amanda shook her head, staring at the both of them. "I'll never understand hetero flirtation," she muttered, taking back the rest of her shot.

"Ah, speaking of work," Kenya said, staring at the top of the stairs, where Datak stood, heading to the top rooms. Nolan's pride plummeted as he followed her gaze, putting two and two together, but it was Amanda who came closest to voicing his thoughts.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she said, staring back at Kenya.

"Jered will get you guys anything else you need," Kenya replied, dodging the question. She patted Nolan's cheek, giving it a quick pinch. "Later, Lawkeeper."

"Later," he said, halfheartedly, watching her walk away. Amanda's stomach turned, the Scotch burning her throat as she watched Kenya greet Datak at the top of the stairs, giving him a warm hug and a nip on the ear before pulling him into her room.

"Men have it so easy," Amanda said darkly.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Nolan said, rising from his stool, unable to keep a frown from wrinkling his chin. "I'm going to call it a night." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't get too shtak-faced," he advised. "One-night stands are never as good if you don't remember them in the morning." He gave her a wink before walking out of the bar, this time without his usual confident swagger.

Amanda reached over the side of the bar, grabbing the bottle of Scotch her sister brought from the basement. Jered, the bartender, eyed her from a few feet away, shaking his head as he cleaned a glass. "Oh, give me a break, Jered," she muttered, treating herself to one last drink. Where she was headed, she would need whatever power she could gleam from the bottom of her glass.

* * *

The cup of tea sitting on the table was cold now, but Stahma drank it anyway, engrossed in the book on her lap. Reading was a hobby she adopted on her home planet, despite the norm that women weren't meant to spend their time with books. But, she had managed to hide her habit, reading at night by lightfire. Once on the New Earth, she had spared no expense in stocking the shelves of her own library, which Datak had seen fit to dedicate to her, especially as he had little time or patience for reading.

The doorbell rang, and the book dropped from Stahma's hands as she rose, walking quietly toward the front door. A steady stream of fear dripped from her brain down her spine, making her walk more stiffly than usual until she managed to peer through the front window. The fear disappeared, but her pulse only quickened as she glimpsed Amanda through the narrow glass. She yanked open the door, her eyes automatically flitting to the street, although it was empty. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

Amanda didn't meet her eye, letting her gaze roam the perimeter of the yard as she gestured around her. "I thought I would come by and make sure everything here was okay..." The excuse was as thin as the t-shirt she wore, and it melted on her tongue.

The rouse was amusing, making Stahma arch one eyebrow, but she didn't play along. "That's not why you came," she refuted, hiding a smile. Amanda's hair wasn't in the braid that it had been earlier that afternoon, and instead it fell in soft waves across her shoulders.

Amanda put her hands in her pockets, shifting on the stoop with a sigh. "Maybe it isn't."

The street in front of the house was still empty, but a small paranoia buzzed along Stahma's brain, making her all the more alert. "Then perhaps you'd better come up with a more believable reason," she said evenly, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice. "Datak could be back at any - "

"Datak will be occupied for awhile," Amanda interrupted cooly, the alcohol coating her voice with an even stronger confidence than normal. She didn't bother explaining how she had come to such a foregone conclusion; the look in Stahma's eyes told her that she knew exactly where her husband spent his nights, and tonight was no different. "Are you alone?" Amanda asked, surprised by the boldness of the question.

Stahma pulled her through the entryway, eager not only to get Amanda off of her open front stoop, but also intent on feeling her heat once again. "For now," she answered, closing the door behind them.

Amanda took advantage of the alcohol running through her, letting it lead her, and she leaned into Stahma, taking her in a slow kiss. Stahma immediately tasted the Scotch on her tongue, a strong, smoky flavor that never found its way to her taste buds except through Amanda. Kissing was not a skill particularly relished by Castithans, as they preferred contact in other places, but she had come to like the way Amanda's tongue mingled with her own.

Amanda's fingers moved underneath her tunic dress, caressing the ridges of her spine, a particularly sensitive spot for Stahma, and she pulled back. "Where are my manners?" she asked breathlessly, her synapses still firing from Amanda's touch along her back. "At least come inside..."

Amanda watched her walk down the hallway, and she followed, stepping inside a white room, its walls lined with white shelves, all of them filled with books, their spines the only color in the room aside from several Casti plants, their stalks and petals draping across a wide window. She hadn't managed to see this particular room during the Collective dinner, and she was surprised by the familiarity of it. The books lent it a familiar feel, the spines in various colors and textures, much like her own shelves at home.

Stahma turned, waving demurely at the surroundings. "It's meant for the family, of course, but I'm the only one that spends time in here anymore." If she was to have Amanda in her home, she would at least take her in a place that was her very own. It was a thin moral calculation, but it made her feel better.

"Datak doesn't strike me as much of a reader," Amanda surmised as she let her fingers graze a few of the titles closest to her.

"Don't do that," Stahma said, the remark cutting, even in its innocence. "Don't insult his intelligence."

Amanda had certainly come with the intention of insulting much more than Datak's intelligence, but she turned her attention to the bookshelf, letting her fingers run across the ridges of various books. She had often wondered if Stahma held any guilt around their encounters, especially when it came to her husband, but her defensiveness confirmed that she did, in fact, have some loyalty to her husband.

"What is this?" she asked, taking a small, thin book from the case, her eyes trailing across the inscription inside. "Who is Selok?" she asked curiously. "An old boyfriend?" She laughed softly, shrugging. "Or perhaps an old girlfriend?" Her laughter died as she peered back at Stahma, who stood, seemingly paralyzed, her eyes locked on the book. Amanda took a step towards her. "Stahma?"

"Selok was my brother," she replied, reaching for the book, eager to have it back in her own hands. She clutched it to her chest, her long, thin fingers gripping it tightly.

"Was your brother," Amanda repeated, catching the past tense. "You never mentioned any siblings... did he die in the Wars?"

Stahma pushed the book back in its place on the shelf, wishing for a moment she had on her cloaked hood, so that she could hide her eyes. "He never made it onto the Arks," she replied faintly. Never did a day pass when she didn't think about her brother, but it was rare that the outside world reminded her so heavily of him. Her fingers touched the spine of the book lightly before turning back to Amanda, painting a smile on her face. "No need to speak of those that aren't here. Besides, we both have ghosts we choose not to discuss."

The remark was another reminder that the two of them were still weary of each other, mistrustful of the attraction between them. "I suppose so," Amanda replied quietly, the rebuff an indication that the connection they shared was, and always would be, merely physical. "Good thing I'm not the prying type." She slipped her jacket off her shoulders, tossing it on the couch behind her. She followed with her t-shirt, the air cool against her bare shoulders as she eyed Stahma, daring her to move forward.

"That's what I adore about you," Stahma replied, striding towards her. She pulled Amanda into her more roughly than usual, as if punishing her for bringing up her past. Amanda quickly settled into the kiss, her hands cupping the fabric of Stahma's dress and pulling it up her thighs, her fingers already on the quest to regain her dominance.

Stahma pulled away, bracing her hands against Amanda's shoulders and guiding her to the settee that rested against the wall. "Sit," she whispered, feeling Amanda bristle at the command. Stahma took a step away from her and reached for the strap of her own dress, pulling one down, then the other before letting it drop over her hips, pooling at her feet. Stepping out of it, she noticed Amanda's earth-colored eyes, which roamed up her legs, stopping only when they made contact with her own.

Stahma straddled Amanda's legs, settling gently on her lap. She let her tongue run over the space just below her ear, pushing the waves of blonde hair out of the way. As she nipped the lobe with her teeth, Amanda moved her hands to Stahma's hips, attempting to shift positions.

"No," Stahma commanded softly, moving Amanda's hands above her head in an effort to halt the probing fingers. Bending her head lower, she ran her tongue over a pert nipple before leaning back, studying the result. "I want to see you want me." Her tongue captured Amanda's other nipple, working it to the same excitement. "Is that all right?" Her fingers slid from Amanda's wrists, fluttering across her arms, and tracing her collarbone. "Say yes to me," she whispered, the request coming out more as a plea than a command.

Amanda was fully aware that her body was in no position to protest, but the request unearthed something else inside her: the fact that, if asked, she would fully give herself over to Stahma. They were a long way from their usual fully clothed, hurried encounters. She swallowed, staring up at the pale figure on her lap. "Yes."

Stahma's hands moved over Amanda's stomach, deftly unbuttoning the pants that still hugged her waist, and she moved off the settee and onto her knees, tugging them downwards. Amanda obliged her, rising just enough for them to slip down her thighs. Stahma's eyes drifted back up her legs, her hands following, pulling at the light blue panties that still blocked her way. "You humans and your constant barriers," she murmured, pulling at them, tossing hem on the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Stahma moved back between Amanda's thighs, widening them and baring her completely, a feat she rarely accomplished in their brief, hurried moments. Her lips brushed against the side of one knee before exploring further, nipping at the sensitive skin. "How do you feel?" she asked, glancing up at Amanda, glad to see the need in her eyes.

"Suddenly sober," Amanda replied with a blush that trailed down her neck and across the top of her chest. Stahma smiled, pulling Amanda further into her as her tongue continued to work its way to her goal. The small sound Amanda gave as her tongue ran up the soft folds let her know that, sober or not, she was falling into her embrace.

The alcohol may have helped dull Amanda's rational instincts, but her synapses were still firing, all of them leading to the small bud that Stahma now chose to tease. She glanced briefly down, catching Stahma's blue eyes as she peered upwards, her mouth still nestled in Amanda's folds. Her hips bucked, and her breath came faster now as Stahma worked her, suckling and exploring with her tongue. Her eyes closed fluttered shut, and suddenly the touch ceased, leaving Amanda's head to loll forward, a frustrated groan escaping her lips.

"Look at me," Stahma whispered, seeking Amanda's gaze once more, needing to establish a connection that they could never achieve in the real world. Amanda peered down at her, lips slightly parted, but her eyes were clear, as if understanding the need to connect. She writhed under Stahma's tongue, but kept her eyes on her blissful tormenter, her hips bucking as the waves of pleasure built, coming closer.

Amanda's chest heaved, her moans now more frequent, signaling that she was close, but Stahma wanted the reward of being inside her, and she slipped two fingers into her folds, quickly building her movement in tandem with her tongue.

Amanda bit her lip, but was unsuccessful at stifling her moans as they grew louder, her hands seeking purchase on the pillows beside her as her hips ground against the hand insider her. Stahma's eyes never left hers, as if pulling her down, the connection only complementing the physical sensations building in her core. After a moment, Amanda's movement halted, the sensations of her orgasm freezing her in place, her breath only coming back to her once the waves of desire passed.

Amanda slid to the floor, cupping Stahma's neck and pulling her into a slow, grateful kiss, her fingers already moving to her folds and pulling her onto her lap. Amanda wanted to tease her, to put her mouth on her, but Stahma was unwilling to wait any longer for her own release, and guided her fingers inside her. She rocked hard on Amanda's hand, burying her head in the blonde waves of her hair and breathing in her soft scent. Her breath shortened as Amanda's thumb found her most sensitive spot, keeping pressure on it while pumping her fingers, pulling her into a powerful orgasm. As the spasms left Stahma's body, she melted into Amanda, wrapping her arms around her, at once content, pleased, and unwilling to move from the embrace.

They hung onto each other for another moment, their breathless pants hitting each other's necks. Amanda let her fingers run over Stahma's spine, up to her neck, where she pushed her pale hair back over her shoulder. The color of Stahma's eyes had darkened during their intercourse, a natural reaction that had taken some time to get used to, but now Amanda relished the deep violet tinge that seeped into them after sex.

After a few moments of quiet breathing, their fingers tracing various lines across each other's skin, Stahma finally spoke. "I'll make us some tea," she whispered, tracing the contours of Amanda's breast.

"Does that require you to get up?" Amanda asked wistfully, pressing her lips into Stahma's neck.

"You know we don't have the luxury of time," Stahma reminded her, breaking their embrace and getting reluctantly to her feet.

Amanda followed her lead, reaching for her clothes, and her fingers brushed a book lying on the floor, a small bookmark poking out of its pages. "HG Wells," she observed, tossing the book onto the couch. "I didn't peg your for a science fiction fan."

Stahma shrugged, smiling as she appraised Amanda's still half-nude body. "His ideas are a bit dated. But, charming enough." She slipped the last strap on her dress up her shoulder. "By all means, feel free to critique the rest of my collection while I'm gone. I'll be right back."

By the time Amanda buckled and zipped her cargo pants, she already heard the sound of dishes clinking lightly in the kitchen. She followed the sound, her eyes drifting into Datak's office as she passed, and her eyes couldn't help but linger over the space. She glanced once more at the direction of the kitchen before slipping inside the office, creeping quickly to the expansive white desk in the center of the room. She had nothing specific to search for, but the thought of finding anything incriminating on Datak Tarr, anything to entice him into agreeing to repair the net, propelled her. She opened a few drawers, rustling through them, unable to decipher much from the frantic pace of her search. Her eyes hit on a discarded envelope on the desk, but dropped it at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Stahma stood in the doorway, her hands full with two cups of tea. Amanda backed away from the desk, keeping her response as casual as possible.

"Nothing," she replied, attempting to judge the look in Stahma's eye.

Stahma nodded slowly. "Is this why you came here?" she asked quietly, a small smile betraying nothing. "Quite shrewd." She handed Amanda one of the mugs, her smile disappearing. "Tell me, what exactly were you hoping to find?"

Amanda set the mug down on the desk, Stahma's calm demeanor unnerving her. "I don't know," she answered honestly, throwing her hands up in the air. "I didn't come here for this, Stahma. You know that."

Stahma stepped around her and opened the desk drawer, sifting through the files that she knew so well after so many years of living alongside her husband. "Tell me, were you expecting to find the deed to this house?" She held it up before tossing it on the desk. "Or perhaps Alak's Casti birth papers?" She held them up as well, letting it land on the other pages, her voice wavering slightly, either with anger or hurt, Amanda couldn't tell. "Or were you hoping to find something more incriminating?"

"Stahma -."

"Datak is not the criminal that you and your Lawkeeper want to make him out to be." She looked around. "He is a father, and a husband, and despite what everyone in this town thinks, he is a good man." She tried again, her voice stronger. "He is a good man."

Amanda watched her carefully, unsure of whether to touch her or not. She opted to simply cross her arms over her chest, nodding. "Stahma, there are things you don't know about Datak."

"Perhaps that's what you'd like to think," Stahma replied evenly. "Perhaps that would make you feel better about our arrangement. But, there is nothing that I don't know about Datak." Her resolve surprised her, as if by merely stating such a thing, she could will her desire for her old life to return, and rid herself of the infatuation with the woman in front of her.

"You lied for him today," Amanda said. "You have no idea where he was last night." She took a step toward her, but Stahma only moved backwards, raising a hand to halt her.

"I've told you how to get him to cooperate with you and you've refused to listen to me," she replied, ignoring the truth of Amanda's words.

"By giving him a Council seat that he has in no way earned."

"I thought you knew something about unearned appointments," Stahma replied, knowing well how her remark would cut, and sure enough, Amanda blanched at the remark, surprised by it. "Your instincts about Datak are wrong," she said softly. "It's my duty as his wife to - "

"Your duty as his wife?" Amanda scoffed, contempt etching her forehead. "I'm sorry, on what earth are you living? Was it your duty as his wife to fuck me in your parlor - ."

Stahma's hand came at her quickly, but Amanda blocked in instinctually, gripping it tightly. "I think you'll find my instincts are usually right," she whispered. The slap may not have met its target, but it stung nonetheless, her cheeks reddening as if Stahma's hand made contact. "I did not come here to spy on Datak," she said sadly, unsure of whether Stahma believed her. She pressed a kiss against Stahma's hand before dropping it. "But, I shouldn't have come here at all."

Stahma said nothing, not trusting her voice enough to respond. "What am I doing here?" Amanda asked, the question bouncing between them. "What am I doing here?" she repeated, shaking her head as she stared at the ground.

"Looking for something," Stahma finally whispered, knowing that whatever it was Amanda was searching for, it had nothing to do with her husband.

"I'm not going to find it, am I?" Amanda asked, her eyes wet. The silence was the only answer she needed, and she nodded to herself before turning away, the sound of her boots the only goodbye she offered. Stahma didn't attempt to stop her, but simply watched her leave, waiting for the sound of the door. Her eyes fell to the two cups of tea, and her loneliness registered like a weight on her chest, making her slump haphazardly into the chair behind Datak's desk. Her surroundings blurred, and for the first time in a long while, hot tears slid down her cheeks.

* * *

**A long chapter - hopefully you're not too tired by now to let me know what you think. Thanks again for reading - I'm attempting to get back in the groove after some long travels. More soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Rafe's Californian-style house stretched before Amanda as she walked up its winding driveway, and she found herself envious of the perfect, bright flowers that lined the front walk. The owner of McCawley mine wasn't known for his green thumb, but his housekeeper, Bertie, kept a vigilant eye on gardeners, landscapers, and the general well-being of the home. For as long as Amanda had been in Defiance, Bertie had been a presence in Rafe's home, supplying a much-needed feminine force to counteract Rafe's weathered spirit.

Amanda rang the doorbell, its chime echoing from inside the house. She waited patiently, eyeing a few ominous clouds in the distance. Ever since Doc's warning, any glimpse of a sunless sky sent a streak of dread through her as powerful as a lightning bolt, but for almost a week now, the razor rain had held off, giving Amanda some hope that the storm belt would wane before hitting Defiance. The door opened and Amanda turned, giving Bertie a warm smile. "Mayor Rosewater," Bertie said, surprised, her overgrown, orange-haired eyebrows raising in one long arch across her forehead.

"I know it's early..." Amanda began, but Bertie waved an unworried hand, silencing her.

"Nonsense." She beckoned Amanda inside. "It's always a pleasure to see you. Regret taking the job of Mayor yet?" She winked, merely teasing, not realizing that same question that had kept Amanda awake for hours over the past several weeks. It was a lonely worry, one that Amanda nursed with solitude and a Scotch, and she merely returned Bertie's smile, plastering on the easygoing and determined expression that had helped her win the appointment in the first place.

"You know, I wouldn't be mad at you if you voted for me in the next election."

It seemed a pleasing enough answer, and Bertie smiled. "As long as you continue to compliment my otter pie, I'll vote for you." She was already halfway down the hallway, her short legs scuttling along the polished hardwood floor. "Have you had breakfast? I'm preparing Rafe's right now. He'll be absolutely ecstatic that you've interrupted it."

Amanda chuckled, the sarcasm not lost on her, and followed Bertie into the open kitchen, its wide bay windows letting the the cloudy gray light in from the backyard. "No, thanks, Bertie. I ate." Amanda rested her elbows on the middle island, her eyes roaming appreciatively over the room. Rafe was proof that there were some people who made the most of the new earth and its meager offerings. His home, built to mimic the style of the old earth, contained a comfort within its walls not found anywhere else in the city, at least for Humans.

"Not enough, by the looks of you." Bertie shook her head, manning a pan of sizzling eggs at the stove. "I'll never understand the Human body. Some of you are built as big as a house, and the rest of you are thin as terratwigs." She eyed Amanda. "I'm making you a plate."

Amanda didn't put up a fight, knowing the futility of arguing with a Liberata, especially one as intent on servitude as Bertie. Rafe's footsteps in the hallway were almost as quiet as his voice, surprising both Bertie and Amanda as he entered the kitchen. "Well, one of you belongs here," he said by way of greeting. Bertie sat a cup of black coffee on the island in front of him and he took a long, slow sip, eyeing Amanda over its green porcelain rim.

"I would've hailed first, but then I may not have caught you," Amanda replied, her earnestness one of the qualities Rafe like most in her, and he nodded.

"Probably true," deadpanned. "You want a cup of coffee?"

Before Amanda could respond, Bertie was already in front of her, sliding a cup of coffee along the counter. "What do you take me for, Rafe?" she asked, staring up at him. "A bad hostess or a bad maid?" She didn't let him answer, instead moving back to her position behind the stove. Rafe smiled, only briefly, taking comfort in the familiar exchange, and moved to the kitchen table, expecting Amanda to follow him.

"I'm assuming you want to talk about the artifact that your Lawkeeper found." He looked up at Amanda as she took a seat catty-corner to him. "I've already talked with Nolan about it."

Amanda wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, the warmth comforting. "I know." She met his eyes. "I also know you don't trust Nolan as far as I can throw him, so I wanted to come and talk to you myself." The lines around Rafe's mouth twitched into a frown, but Amanda knew her point hit home. Still, she eased into her questioning, treading lightly. "I've never seen anything like that artifact."

"I haven't, either," Rafe offered, but he shut down as Bertie placed a plate of eggs and fried meat in front of him. Discussing the artifact inevitably meant discussing Luke, which was not an easy task. It had been hard enough to allow Nolan and his deputies to search the room, which Rafe had kept untouched since his son's unexpected death.

Amanda waited until Bertie placed a plate in front of her, the smells of something other than cold cereal kindling her appetite all over again. "Did Luke talk to you about any other discoveries he made in the mines?"

"Luke was a grown man," Rafe said, chewing quietly. "We didn't have many heart to hearts." Regret colored his words, making Amanda glance down at her egg, which she punctured with her fork as he continued. "Whatever the artifact is, I doubt Luke knew what it was."

"You think he was planning on selling it?" Amanda paused, her old scavenger's sense tingling. "He could easily get a couple thousand scrib for it."

"He wasn't a filthy scavenger."

Rafe spat the term out like an unpalatable bite of food, a reminder that not everyone had been faced with such stark choices during the wars. Rafe had enlisted, which meant plenty of food and enough income, even though the trade off was facing the possibility of death each day. Amanda, on the other hand, had been too young to enlist, subsisting on whatever she could salvage from raids, with the black hand of death always lurking just behind her and Kenya, taking various forms each night: violence, rains, starvation. Needless to say, Amanda held a soft spot in her heart for those struggling enough to scavenge; it was a talent honed by the frailest grip of hope.

"If he wasn't going to sell it, maybe he knew why Ben was after it," Amanda said carefully, still harboring some guilt around the idea that someone as close to her as Ben was capable of committing murder, even if he had been bribed and programmed to do it. "Maybe he knew that it could be from the Eighth Race."

Rafe dropped his knife onto his plate, staring up at her. "The Eighth Race," he said lowly. "Luke knew nothing about that."

"But you do, don't you?" Amanda pressed, having forgotten her food, the cooling eggs no longer appealing. "Come on, Rafe, you were in the investigative division of the Earth Military Coalition. I know you worked on the Eighth Race."

"Some say the Eighth Race is just a myth, talked up by the Votans," Rafe replied, dismissing her with a wave of his fork.

Amanda had read the myths, the conspiracies, but what she needed was first hand knowledge. "If that were so, the Earth Military Coalition wouldn't have bothered keeping everything about its missions so quiet."

Rafe eyed her. "Did Nicky put you up to this?"

Amanda balked, recalling Nicky's reaction to her questions about the Eighth Race, which hadn't let on that she knew much about it. "Seeing as how I'm no longer her assistant, no, she didn't put me up to anything." Her words were harsh, born out of confusion. If it had been anyone other than Rafe sitting across from her, she would have moved on, but her bewilderment pecked at her, and if anyone knew Nicky better than she did, it was him. "Why would Nicky put me up to it?"

Rafe took a bite of bacon, the crunch reaching clear across the table. "She's always been obsessed with the Eighth Race."

Amanda shook her head disbelievingly, tacitly arguing with him. He seemed to sense her surprise, and with some decency, qualified his remark. "She didn't talk about it much. It was more of an obscure hobby, and she was too much of a politician to publicize it. But, she asked me from time to time about an EMC recognizance program that was intended to recover the technology of the Eighth Race."

"What kind of technology?"

"Reverse terraforming." Rafe chuckled under his breath. "They were searching for a dream. EMC finally figured it out it was a shtakshow of an initiative, and disbanded the brigade before the last Siege. Still, there are people out there who want to believe." He took a slow sip of his coffee. "That's about all they can do."

"This artifact," Amanda said, stating what she thought was obvious, but needing to say it aloud. "The EMC, or at least, someone with contacts in the old military coalition, could have found out about it." She leaned into the table, pushing her plate away from her. "Do you know anyone who might be looking for that artifact? From this faction, or group, or whatever they're calling themselves? It has to be someone with enough weigh to command the Volge to attack."

"Whoever it is, I can guarantee you they're not cooperating with the Earth Republic. The ER gave up the pursuit years ago, and burned a lot of bridges doing it."

"What about the Votanis Collective?"

"I wouldn't know about that. Maybe you should ask your buddy Datak."

Amanda rolled her eyes, not surprised by the side swipe. "It was just a dinner, Rafe. I wasn't colluding and making secret deals with the Votans." She stared hard at him. "Who hit Datak's house with the gulaworks that night? Someone from the mines?"

"Hell if I know," Rafe said, wiping his hands on his napkin. "Trust me, if I knew who it was, I'd give 'em a bonus."

Amanda was used to Rafe's words, which were usually louder than his bite. He employed Votans in his mines, and generally kept the peace, which meant his beef with Datak probably had more to do with his daughter's engagement than with anything else. "

"I asked Datak for help restructuring the Net," she said. "I had no other choice, but he won't do it. Not without a Council seat."

"The day that lily white shtak has a seat at the Council will be the day that I'm no longer on the new earth."

"Then help me find another way to get it repaired," Amanda countered. "Otherwise I will appoint him myself."

"You'd be alienating half the team that could help get you elected," Rafe reminded her, seeing more of Nicky than he wanted to in her resilience.

"Without the protection of the stasis net, Rafe, I'm at risk of getting half the town annihilated by another Volge attack, or worse. This isn't about politics, or campaign funds, or whatever else your conspiracy-ridden mind things up. It's simply about keeping this goddamn town afloat."

"And you really think he'd help you even after he got what he wanted out of you?" Rafe shook his head, disappointment etching his forehead. "If you believe that, then I've got an artifact from the Eighth Race I'd like to sell you." He didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes softened, and Amanda chuckled, the tension between them all but dissipating.

"You really don't believe that this reverse terraforming technology exists?" she asked.

"It's an old wives tale," Rafe answered. "Or, in Nicky's case, an old maid's tale."

Amanda chuckled, pushing herself away from the table. "I will tell her you said that next time I see her."

"Go ahead. She can't make my life miserable anymore." He gestured at her. "You better get out of hear before Bertie realizes you didn't clean your plate."

"Tell her I didn't have time to clean my plate. I've got to get to the Affinity School for their Grand Gardening Something-or-Other." Her days, even when not filled with life or death problems, were crammed with meetings, events, fundraisers. She used to fill Nicky's calendar with the same packed schedule, and wonder how the Mayor managed to engage so many people with a warm smile and a kind ear. Now she knew: it was nothing more than sheer adrenaline, to get to the next election, the next vote, to solve the next crisis.

"Next time send Bertie in your place. She loves that kind of thing." He shrugged, but didn't smile. "People might notice, though. She can't quite get all that hair of hers into a side braid."

Amanda laughed. "Listen, if anything comes to mind..." she paused. "Talk to Nolan. He's a pain in the ass, but we can trust him."

Rafe simply took another sip of his coffee, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't respond, and turned toward the front door. "You got it, Mayor," he said, and even though she didn't turn around, she was certain he was smiling.

* * *

Gray clouds hovered over the large garden, keeping the sun at bay, and the slight dampness in the air chilled Stahma through her thin cloak. She had heard talk of razor rain through the radio broadcasts, but hoped the storm system would spare them, or at the least be less destructive than it had in years past. The _ garden stretched in front of her, its small buds tiny and proud, lined in distinct rows up and down the brown earth. Stahma had done none of the planting, spending most of her time with the women on the fundraising committee, who knew nothing of gardening, but who wanted their family names stamped on the project just the same. Two of those very women stood next to her now, gazing approvingly at their efforts.

"Lets hope these clouds hold off long enough for the photographer to get a few good shots," the first one said, a Human, auburn hair darker in the low light. "I'd hate to pay him for nothing." She looked at her watch. "Shouldn't he be here by now?"

"I wish more parents had shown up," said a Castithan woman, ignoring the Human's question, which Stahma realized was the way these women communicated. Speak, ignore each other, and repeat the cycle over again. "That's the problem, you know. Parents these days. If it weren't for us, this project never would have happened. They could at least show a little gratitude and come support their children."

Stahma peered over at her with a kind, but corrective smile. "Most of them don't have a choice when it comes to these things. It's either this, or putting food on the table." Immediately, she knew she'd said too much, and the light eyes of her fellow Castithans stared back at her. She waited tensely for the next remark.

"I suppose," the Human woman offered, but Stahma sensed the distance, and the judgment, in her voice. "Ah, the Mayor's finally arrived," she announced, her attention happily thwarted. Stahma followed her gaze, watching as Amanda wave to a small group of children, who paused their hopscotch game to taunt her into playing. Amanda declined, a familiar blush coloring her cheeks, but as the pleas continued, she finally agreed, taking her position at the front of the sketched outline.

Stahma felt a familiar pang in her stomach as she watched her hop, her braid bouncing on her shoulder, a competitive, but unburdened smile stretching across her face. In that smile was an innocence never revealed when the two of them were together, and the gray clouds above seemed to seep into Stahma, filling her with sadness. It had been days since they'd spoken, which was nothing new, as they rarely sought each other out except when circumstances allowed, but this time the distance hurt, like a hand squeezing her heart. As Amanda waved to the kids, leaving them behind in favor of the adults that welcomed her with cold, frigid smiles, Stahma ducked into the small greenhouse, its heat immediately leaching the cold from her.

A small Irathient boy, who couldn't have been older than five, stood in front of a bay of plants, his tiny frame extended over the tiny blooms. His hands rested by his sides, and he peered at the plants with an intensity eerily familiar to Stahma, and she walked over to him, the boy drawing her closer, like a ghost pulled from her past. She knelt beside him, glancing at the flower he studied, its bud familiar to her. "Have you ever seen this flower before?" she asked.

He didn't respond, instead staring up at her with a pair of expressive green eyes that revealed an unspoken world. She had seen that world before, contained in her own brother's eyes, and she smiled at him. His hands waved suddenly, back and forth in front of him, as if batting away whatever emotion he couldn't quite verbalize.

Stahma continued, touching her finger to the small, unopened bud. "When it blooms later in the summer, it will open up like a hippotrap mouth, with little thorns, like teeth." She reached for a box of unplanted seedlings, setting them on the ground and taking one, digging a small hole for it. The little boy quickly helped, the repetitive motion pleasing to him. "Good," she encouraged, taking his hand gently and halting it enough to plop the small bud into the soil.

"Do you know what a hippotrap is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at her for a long moment, and she knew the thoughts that spiraled in his brain, a kaleidoscope of word colors, but she would only manage to get a few from him. He nodded. "Yes."

"I thought you may," she said, responding as if he had spoken to her at length. "They are quite frightening creatures, but only if you make them angry." She began another small hole in the soil, and the little boy followed her action, eager to help. They planted three seedlings, their work done in tandem, a partnership without words. If she let go of her surroundings, she could almost feel the closeness of her brother, the memory of their shared imaginations palpably close.

The squeak of the greenhouse door brought her back to the present, and the boy's bright orange hair and melded brow almost surprised her, she had fallen so far into her past. "Stahma, I couldn't find you, and I thought you'd want to say hello to Mayor Rosewater." The Chairwoman put a hand to her upswept auburn hair, smiling between the two of them. "I can take a lot of hot air," she said with a feigned chuckle. "But my hair can't. I'll meet the two of you back outside for the photo op in a few minutes."

Amanda almost followed the woman back outside, but hesitated too long, and the greenhouse door slammed shut once again. The air was hot and thick, as if she could reach out and grab it, and her own awkwardness only added to her discomfort. She took a deep breath, walking over to Stahma. They stared at each other, guilt hanging between them, as if strung from a wire. Amanda shifted, knowing most of that guilt lay on her own shoulders. "So, who's teaching who here?" she asked.

The question was meant as a way to snap the taut disquiet between them, and it did, making Stahma chuckled unwittingly. "He's definitely teaching me," she answered. She looked up at Amanda, her eyes kind, the slightest hint of forgiveness in them. "You've won the hearts of the richest women in Defiance by coming here. They will remember this when you run."

"If only we could all be as calculating as you," Amanda replied easily, kneeling down to their level and giving the young boy a small wave. "I'm Amanda," she said, extending her hand to him.

"No, you're not," he said, his large, light eyes staring at her. "You're the Mayor."

"Only on the weekdays," she said with a grin. She pointed at the row of new seedlings. "How long will it take for your flowers to grow?" Again, the boy stared at her, his eyes flickering from her to the soil.

"In six weeks they'll be in full bloom," Stahma said, smiling warmly at him.

"Six weeks. That's a long time." Amanda ran a finger through the soil, hoping that simply by touching it, she wouldn't curse it with her complete inability to make anything grow.

Stahma looked over at her, amused. "It's but a slip of time," she said, shaking her head. "You Humans are such impatient beings."

The boy reached into another bed of soil and plucked a small, already bloomed flower from it with a quick yank. He handed it up to Amanda.

"What a gentleman. And one who appreciates instant gratification." Amanda took the flower from him, twirling it in her fingers, but the boy went immediately back to his planting, the rhythm of it clearly pleasing to him. "He's cute," Amanda said, standing.

Stahma followed his movements with her eyes. "Yes," she agreed. "He's gentle. He reminds me of - " she stopped, forgetting herself, and rose to her feet, her lips in a fine line and her cheeks coloring. "Never mind," she said quickly, taking the flower from Amanda and inserting its stem in her blonde, upswept hair, just above her ear. "Perfect," she said. "You're ready for your photo op."

Amanda searched Stahma's eyes, seeing the past flicker behind them, but she knew too much about avoiding memories, and didn't press her. "You'll join us?" she asked instead.

"In a moment," Stahma said, pointing back to the boy. "I think I'll hide out in here a little while longer."

Amanda could tell when someone needed space, which is one of the things that made her an adept politician. She nodded, stepping away from the two of them, but paused to glance over her shoulder, studying the ease that ran through Stahma's normally rigid, composed shoulders as she helped the boy explore another flower bed. Her hailer buzzed in her holster, and she plucked it out, dread running through her at the name on the display.

"Doc," she said, casually enough, but she knew better. "You must have bad news."

"I have bad news."

Amanda sighed. "What is it?"

"You're about to hear a sound that is not going to make you very happy."

The dread rifling through her plummeted to her stomach in a heap, and her shoulders hunched. "The razor rain siren," she breathed.

"You got it. We've got about fifteen minutes until those clouds in the distance start dropping heavy metal on us."

"Okay," Amanda managed. "Call Nolan, release the siren, and we'll do what we can." She dropped her hailer back at her waist, turning back to Stahma and the boy. "Stahma, I need you both to go inside the school. Now."

Stahma turned at the tone of her voice, raising her eyebrows. Before she could question Amanda's stoic face, the siren blared, searing through the greenhouse walls. Stahma's eyes widened, and she gripped the small boy's hand, lurching into action. "Come," she said, the word clipped and rushed as she beckoned him toward her. Amanda ushered them both outside, where the siren had spread through the crowd of children and adults like a stone in a pond, it's ripples spreading them across the field.

"Razor rain siren!" Amanda yelled. "We need to get everyone in the shelters, now!"

She recognized the principal a few yards away, who was already calling orders out to teachers and reprimanding those that didn't move fast enough for her. "Inside through the back doors, down to the shelter!" she yelled, the poise that she reserved inside the school now replaced by a fiery vigilance. She glanced at Amanda. "I've got three emergency kits downstairs, but no kevlar."

Amanda nodded. "Make sure we get everyone inside. No one leaves, even if they've got a parent here. There's no time." Amanda left her, running to her roller and pulling a Kevlar poncho out of the back. It was heavy, weighing her down as she ran back to the school, but it would protect against most of the smaller debris falling from the sky. She grabbed a small, thin helmet, wishing the minds behind her gear had thought about something to cover her neck.

Stahma gathered more children as she made her way to the school doors, glancing up at the clouds, which appeared as if they would open up at any moment. The Irathient boy covered his ears, closing his eyes, and she tried to take his hand, but he jerked away from her. "Come on, sweetheart," she tried, grabbing his shoulder and moving him ever so slightly. "We have to go inside, okay?"

"Let's pair them in buddies," a teacher called, her eyes wide as she put children together, calling out sweetly to them. "Grab a buddy and follow Mrs. Tarr!" Stahma was ushered forward by a strong hand, one used to dealing small, stubborn children. "If you help Mrs. Rynta lead them downstairs, I'll make sure we round everyone else up out here."

Stahma placed the boy's hand into the hand of an older Irathient girl. "When we get downstairs, I'll tell you my favorite story about a hippotrap who lives in the Badlands, okay?" She waited for a nod, knowing it wouldn't come, and simply patted his cheek before moving through the throng of kids, calling them forward and guiding them into the building.

The school's shelter was actually a basement, its smell dark and dank, but a row of lights across the ceiling kept it brightly lit. A row of shelves lined a far corner, filled with a few medic kits, games, and books. A woman stood, sifting through the kits, and she turned as Stahma walked into the room, her Indogene skin glowing under the flourescent lights. Her nurse badge reflected off her chest: Len Gruhl.

"We've got plenty of emergency kits, but clearly the species who prepared them have no idea what it's like being locked in a room with children for a prolonged period of time," she said. "I'm going to run upstairs and get juices and snacks. For now, lets group the kids by classroom so we can get a head count."

Stahma heard the voices of children as they trampled down the stairs, and she nodded, allowing the chaos to guide her, settling children into groups and corners, assisting teachers where she could. As the last of the kids huddled into the room, their boisterousness blunted by fear, Stahma searched for the young boy, but only spotted the young girl she paired him with outside.

"Excuse me," she said, touching the shoulder of the girl. "Where is your buddy? The little boy?"

The girl shrugged. "He jerked away from me. He tried to scratch me, see?" She held out her arm, but Stahma was already glancing sporadically about the room. She walked through the sea of children, peering at their faces, but her panic swelled as none of them remotely resembled the boy. She stood in place, turning in a small circle, her throat closing in a horrific epiphany. She ran towards the stairs, parting groups of children with her hands, hurtled forward by an unknown, unrecognizable force.

Outside, Amanda rounded the periphery of the school, the even darker clouds in the distance rolling closer. A father ran towards her, his son in his arms, and Amanda recognized both of them. "Richard, where are you going?" she asked, grabbing his arm.

"Home," he replied, his voice thin with exertion. "My wife is at home."

Amanda shook her head, stepping in front of him. "I can't let you do that, Richard, it's not safe. The storm will be here in less than ten minutes, you don't have time to get there."

He attempted to step around her, but Amanda called after him. "This is the safest place you can be right now, Richard. For your son's sake, please get inside the school."

He faced her, his eyes beaming with a furious panic, but he turned to the school, rushing towards the door. Amanda exhaled, eyeing the perimeter of the garden and the playground, but the area around her was empty now, the garden still freshly planted and beaming, unaware of the torrent that was about to rain down on it. She reached for her hailer, its screen already filled with an onslaught of messages. She would have to govern as best she could from the school until the worst of the storm passed.

The first whiz of rain sounded behind her, and she saw the arc of slivered metal. Scrambling towards the building, she nearly ran into Stahma, who lunged out of the double doors, her white cloak flaring behind her. Amanda narrowed her eyes, bracing Stahma's arm. "What are you doing out here?"

"I can't find him," Stahma stammered, her eyes not meeting Amanda's, but roaming the grasses behind her, hoping to see the boy she had unwittingly left behind.

"Who?"

"The little boy, we're missing the boy," Stahma pressed, pushing past Amanda, towards the garden. "He was in the greenhouse with me, I had his hand, and he's not here." A thin current of trepidation ran just beneath her voice.

"I'm sure he's inside, Stahma." Amanda hadn't seen anyone as she perused the grounds, and she tried pulling Stahma back towards the safety fo the building. She could now hear the razor rain sluicing into the earth, slashing through anything in its path. "He's probably hiding, away from the rest of the kids."

"No," Stahma insisted, jerking her hand from Amanda's grip with surprising strength. "I looked for him, Amanda, I didn't see him." The clouds above them had darkened ominously, but that didn't stop her from heading towards the greenhouse. "We have to see if he's out here. What if we left him?" Her thin figure bent forward in determination, the threat of falling metal not a deterrent.

Amanda ran after her, frustration momentarily eclipsing her fear as the first few slices of rain encroached the garden, swizzling past them into the tilled newly tilled earth. "Stahma! "

Stahma moved blindly, aware of the rain in the most peripheral sense, and continued onward, governed not by her usual rational mind, but something darker and more primitive. A sliver of metal hit the ground in front of her, and she dodged it automatically, as if controlled by an omnipresent ghost. The smaller pieces could be even more deadly than the larger ones, invisible shards that could slice through the most major of arteries, bringing death in moments. Amanda's hand grabbed her arm once again, and they were both simultaneously aware of the gray hunk of metal slamming into the ground just in front of them, throwing them both off balance. As they both struggled to their feet, another slim piece of jagged metal sliced its way across Stahma's thin dress, piercing her thigh and leaving a burning, bloody gash in its wake. Stahma cried out at the sudden intrusion. She tried again to get to her feet, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay, but only for a moment, and she grunted as her leg became suddenly useless, crumpling beneath her.

Metal still pelting the earth around them, Amanda pulled Stahma's arm around her neck, taking as much weight as she could. "We gotta walk," she said breathlessly, half-dragging Stahma back to the double doors that would mark their safety. Stahma groaned as she limped along, sinking against an inner wall once they burst back into the building. Her hands shaking, she lifted her long skirt, accessing the damage. The cut wasn't deep, running just along the outer edge of her thigh, to the cusp of her knee, but it was bleeding profusely.

The nurse, Len, popped her head out of the stairwell, searching for them. Amanda barely let her register the injury before barking out orders. "The first aid and viral kit!" she called. "We need it now!" Len nodded and ducked back down the stairs. Amanda knelt at Stahma's side, comforted by the fact that the gash wasn't too deep. Still, it wasn't the threat of bleeding out that worried her; razor rain pieces carried bacteria and the threat of viruses that, if left untreated for too long, could metastastize like a poison in the blood.

"We left him out there." Stahma's hand shook underneath Amanda's, her eyes focused on the double doors at the end of the hallway rather than the pulsing wound at her leg. "We left him." She repeated the words, again and again, and Amanda peered into her eyes, trying to bring her back to the present.

The nurse hurried down the hallway towards them, carrying a small black medic case. She fell to her knees beside Stahma, pulling out a towel and fishing through the kit, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth. "There's no antivirals in any of the cases," she said. "The only thing I can do is stop the bleeding."

"Why aren't they equipped with antivirals?" Amanda asked, agitated.

"You tell me, you're the Mayor," Len quipped, but she turned her head back to the wound, putting pressure on it.

"We left him..." Stahma repeated, and didn't blanch as the woman pressed the towel to her thigh.

Amanda darted another look out of the small, narrow windows nestled within the double doors. She had her kevlar, and she had a helmet, which meant she wasn't completely defenseless against the storm. And if there was even the remote possibility that the boy was out there, she wanted to find him. "Stahma, I'll look for him, okay?" For the first time since entering the building, Stahma met her eyes, and the pain in them struck Amanda with a heavy force, piercing her like a piece of razor rain itself. Amanda pulled on the helmet she had dropped by the door, the heaviness of the gear complementing the weight of Stahma's gaze against her back. "I'll be back," she called over her shoulder, fear coursing through her as she stepped outside, pressing her back against the door, the small awning still offering some protection.

The heavy pieces were already starting to fall, and were easier to avoid, but the smaller razors dinged against the poncho as she walked, making her recalibrate her balance every few seconds or so. She headed first to the greenhouse, going by Stahma's lead. The rain had already pierced through some of the roof and siding, and one wall was caved in, a piece of hulking metal protruding from it. Amanda walked towards it, struck by the destruction, when only that morning it had been the new hope of the school, a place of learning and security. Her heart stopped at a curled fist, the tiny fingers barely recognizable against the hulk of metal. A grieved sound throttled out of her throat as she dropped to the ground, heaving the debris off the boy's small body. His eyes were closed, and she couldn't tell if he was breathing, but she opened her poncho and pulled him into her chest, getting slowly to her feet.

Her walk back to the school was more labored with the dead weight in her arms, and as a large metal slab pierced the ground in front of her, and she stumbled, struggling to stay upright. The school was only twenty yards away, but it felt as expansive as a football field. As her feet skimmed the metal-strewn grass, a large shard caught her back, and this time she tumbled, hitting the ground on her side, her arms wrapped protectively around the boy, leaving her helmet to smack ground. "Frak," she screamed, more out of frustration that pain, and scrambled back to her feet, her back straining as she lifted the boy once more.

She smashed open the door closest to her, towards the rear of the school, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her eyes wet from both the razor dust and the pain in her head. Len rounded a corner, running as she caught sight of the boy, and helped Amanda carry him to an inner hallway, away from the rattling, unstable windows. "I don't know if he's breathing," Amanda said, ripping off the heavy poncho so that she could kneel beside him. She flung the helmet off, and it rolled across the tiled hallway. The nurse's fingers were more expert than Amanda's at finding a pulse, but when she didn't, she immediately began compressions, her wide, white hands pressing urgently into his small, thin chest. "Come on, Jarrett, buddy," she said, speaking softly to him. Amanda watched helplessly, briefly registering his name, her mind repeating the same commands as the nurse: Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Amanda wasn't sure how long the compressions lasted, but it was long enough for the storm to grown to its full strength, the sounds of metal jarring the roof and the windows around them, occasionally breaking through the storm-proofed coating. "I'm not getting anything," Len said, panting with exertion, her efforts having lasted long enough to bring a sheen of panicked sweat to her skin. "He's not responding." Amanda stared down at him, his face deathly pale, his lips blue and crinkled at the corners. Her eyes met the nurse's, neither of them wanting to state the horrible truth. Instead, Len wiped a fist across her mouth. "He's not responding." She took off the white coat she wore and laid it over his head.

Neither of them heard Stahma's slow footsteps round the corner, and it was only when Len's eyes peered up that Amanda turned, scurrying to her feet. Stahma limped towards them, her own bloodied cloak wrapped around her thigh, but the pain didn't deter her from continuing, a relieved smile dawning on her face. "You found him," she began, but stopped as she came closer, her eyes raking over his body, the white coat laying ominously over his head. Her breath left her, leaving her hollow and frozen, and she put a hand to her mouth.

Amanda glanced back at Len, unsure of who to comfort first, or whether she could summon the courage to even stand. The nurse, however, stood, clamping a hand over her mouth once more, as if keeping in a hardened sob, before finally speaking. "I'm not going to tell any of the other teachers yet," she said. "We'll let them know after this is all over. It won't help for them or the kids to be in a panic."

Amanda appreciated her formality, logistics the only thing that remotely made sense to discuss at such a moment. "Of course," she said, nodding. They jumped as window rattled with another blast somewhere in the building. "I'm going to make sure everything is still okay downstairs." Len got unsteadily to her feet, her eyes raking the blood on Stahma's dress. "Mrs. Tarr, you need to stay off that leg," she said, but the words held no command, they were simply a part of her going through the motions, and she continued on, her footsteps slow and somber along the tile hallway.

"Stahma," Amanda tried, taking her elbow. "Why don't we go back downstairs for now?"

"How could we have left him?"

"We didn't leave him," Amanda assured her. "It was a horrible, horrible accident." Her voice broke, the thin reed of composure finally cracking. She touched Stahma's elbow, hoping the contact would pull her out of the pool of grief that was quickly enclosing her.

"How could I have left him?" Stahma repeated, and Amanda saw that she was no longer at the school, or even on the New Earth. Whatever memory had overcome her, it had transplanted her back to another time that had nothing to do with the young boy. Amanda knew how ghosts could float through memory, blurring what was real, and she pulled lightly at Stahma's shoulder.

"Stahma, let's go back downstairs, okay, there's nothing we can do up here."

"I need to see his face," Stahma said, sinking to the ground, ignoring the blast of pain in her thigh. "I need to see his face." She lifted the jacket, and her memory lifted as well, replacing the image of her brother with the small boy who she had met in the greenhouse. A boy like her brother, but not him. This was a boy who had parents, possibly a sister, who loved him, and who had now lost him. She replaced the jacket, her heart filled with a new sort of grief, a borrowed one, but one that still made her bow her head. "We should stay with him," she whispered.

Amanda glanced back down the hallway. "Stahma, there's nothing more we can do," she said, grief ripping her throat, making her voice sound ragged. Cowardice slumped her shoulders, guilt and horror battling inside her, and she needed to be away from the boy, as if leaving him would reverse the tragedy. She bit her lip, hard, struggling.

"It's a way to honor the dead," Stahma said slowly, her voice thick with tears that hadn't yet fallen. "To stay with the body."

Amanda knew the custom, as it was practiced by several species, including some in her own race, but death and destruction had become to much of a force in her life to sit down with it and acknowledge it. Cowardice slumped her shoulders, guilt and horror battling inside her, and she needed to be away from the boy, as if leaving him would reverse the tragedy. She bit her lip, hard, struggling. This time, however, she sunk to her knees, closing her eyes.

Stahma bowed her head, her grief coming in short, raspy sobs. She wasn't sure when Amanda's hand found her own, but when the rain finally stopped, the sounds of destruction finally ceding to the quiet of the dead, she didn't let go of it.

* * *

**Thanks again for reading - more soon! I love hearing your thoughts: good, bad, and ugly :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Nature had a way of reminding Amanda of the random cruelty of life, the inner mechanics of a world that calculated cause and effect with no obligation to the souls that populated it. Even with that steady pessimism drumming away in her brain, she worked nonstop to mitigate the outcome of the storm, her hailer pressed to her ear, barking out commands and taking in reports from the field. The town had been decimated in the most arbitrary way, leaving some families struggling to find shelter for the night, and others thankful that the falling metal spared them.

A medic tent set up directly outside Doc Yewll's office offered help to the wounded, but it quickly turned into a meeting point for those looking to connect with loved ones after the storm, their panic only eased once they set eyes on family members and friends. Amanda pushed through the flap of the tent, her eyes grazing the cots laid out on the ground, occupied with dazed and bleeding members of her town.

Stahma sat on a cot at the far end of the tent, the plastic yellow walls giving her pale skin a jaundiced tint. Her leg stretched out before her, the wound unwrapped and open, but she didn't seem to be in any pain. Her eyes held the same dim haze as they had back at the school, focusing not on her surroundings, but on some distant, painful memory. Amanda walked over, putting a hand on her shoulder. Stahma reached up automatically, touching the hand that she had held for so long that morning in the quiet hallway of the school.

"Are you getting patched up okay?" Amanda asked.

"Of course she is," Doc replied, pushing her out of her way and kneeling down in front of Stahma, her gloved hands carrying a small vial of blue liquid. "We're getting to everyone, it's just taking a little time. Ten minutes warning doesn't leave a lot of time for people to make it into shelters."

"Do you have enough antiretros to treat everyone?" Amanda questioned, ignoring Doc's surliness, which, given the situation, seemed entirely appropriate.

"Fortunately, yes. That last shipment from San Francisco helped my reserves. Of course, it would have been more helpful if we could have averted so many injuries." Doc took the small stopper and dipped it into the med vial, glancing up at Stahma with a flat, pitiless expression. "By the way, this is going to hurt like hell."

Stahma barely had the time to nod before Doc squeezed several droplets onto the gash, and it was mere seconds before the pain kicked in, a searing of the wound that would effectively heal it and prevent any blood poisoning. Stahma jerked at the burn, a pain that she felt all the way to the bone, her teeth grinding, and her hand reflexively reached for Amanda's again, squeezing it until the pain passed, morphing into a dull numbness. She let out a relieved breath, her voice shaky. "The Indogene bedside manner has always left a little to be desired." She let go of Amanda's hand, conscious for the first time that she was still squeezing it.

Doc reached for a fresh bandage and placed it over the wound. "Which would you rather have, bedside manner, or effective drugs? I'm a one and done type of girl."

"Did you get in touch with Alak?" Amanda cut in. "And Datak?"

Stahma nodded, still grimacing slightly at the smarting sting in her leg. "They're both fine. They were at Tarr Industries during the storm. The building didn't get any damage."

"That's convenient, isn't it?" Doc mumbled, still working on the bandage. She didn't look up at either of them, and missed the warning look that Amanda darted down at her.

"I suppose so," Stahma answered slowly.

"Doc - " Amanda warned.

"The very person that could have helped prevent all this - " Doc gestured to the injuries around her - "is perfectly fine. I love an ironic twist to tragedy."

"What?" Stahma asked, her eyes studying Doc, aware that there was something she wasn't being told.

Doc pressed the bandage on her leg, her touch much gentler than her tone. "Tarr Industries could have repaired my radars so that we could have at least given people more than ten minutes to hide from a bunch of falling metal. But Tarr Industries didn't think that was a wise investment."

"Doc, come on, that's enough," Amanda said, looking pointedly at her. "Datak doesn't control the weather."

"But, he controls this town, doesn't he?" Doc stood, challenging Amanda, crossing her arms over her chest. Her defiance quickly passed, and she sighed, turning back to Stahma, focusing on the business at hand. "If you see any discoloration in the wound, come see me. The antiretros will help the wound heal even faster than normal. You should be able to remove that bandage by tomorrow morning." She turned briskly, her attention already on another patient, and left them.

"What is she talking about?" Stahma asked, following the doctor with her eyes before staring imploringly up at Amanda.

Crushing Datak's image wasn't so much of a burden, but that would mean hurting Stahma, which was something Amanda was not prepared to do. Their relationship, though, whatever it was, required some sort of trust, and she opted for honesty. "I went to Datak for help repairing the Stasis Net. It was a last resort, but he wouldn't commit to it. Not without a Council seat in return."

The idea that Datak would bargain for a council seat was no surprise to Stahma; she new her husband's ambitions almost as well as he did. But, the idea that he would so easily trample an opportunity to help the very town that they helped build hit her like a splash of cold water. It awakened something in her that only lay dormant before, and for the first time she felt pure hatred towards her husband. It frightened her, leaving her feeling alone and abandoned, no longer a part of the team that she signed up for when they married. She simply sat, the information hitting her as hard as the debris that sliced through her leg.

Amanda was aware of the myriad problems awaiting her outside the tent, made palpable by the constant buzzing of her hailer, but she knelt in front of Stahma, putting a hand on her knee. "Datak's decision was his alone, Stahma. This has nothing to do with you."

"This is my family," she said coldly, her voice leached of emotion. "This has everything to do with me."

"Mom!" Alak's voice rang through the tent as he ran towards them, and Amanda jerked her hand from its comfortable perch on Stahma's knee, rising back to her feet. Datak followed close behind, his blonde hair even more mussed than usual, his lips in a fine line as he took in the scene around him. Alak leaned over, kissing his mother and staring down at her bandaged leg. "Shtako, mom, what happened?"

"I got caught in the rain," Stahma replied automatically, and the understatement suddenly hit her, making her laugh softly. "It's fine, Alak. It's already feeling better."

Datak snaked a protective hand around her shoulder. "I'm going to get you home." Amanda reached to help Stahma up at the same time as Datak, and he looked at her curiously. "I can take it from here, Mayor."

"Of course," Amanda said quickly, feeling foolish as she stepped back from them, hoping the blush she felt heating her neck wasn't too noticeable.

Stahma stood gingerly, testing her weight on her leg. She put one arm around Datak, but reached out for Amanda with the other, squeezing her hand. "I won't forget what you did today. You were as courageous as always." Her eyes glowed with her words, as if giving voice to an emotion that could only be communicated secretly.

Amanda nodded silently, watching Datak and Alak helped Stahma out of the tent. She didn't dawdle for long, responsibility pulling her from any sort of self-pity, and she took a few moments to ask after the patients in the tent. Most of them had non-threatening injuries, which made the job of rallying them a little easier. The hard part would be notifying family members of those that didn't make it through the storm. And so far, Amanda would have six very difficult visits. She stepped out of the tent, where the air was heavy with a damp, still settling dust. Nolan came towards her, the scruffiness along his jaw holding a ruddiness that normally wasn't there.

"How are you holding up?" she asked him, gazing at the groups of people around them, some still searching for family members, others simply helping in the recovery effort. "Did you get in touch with the Warden in the Western hold?"

He nodded. "Tommy and Irisa are on their way over there now with a couple of trucks. Wasn't too much damage. Inmates are still inmates, at least."

Amanda nodded. "Listen, I talked to Rafe this morning, before all of this - " she waved her hand to the destruction around them - "I asked him for information on an old E-Rep faction, one that was intent on hunting old Votech from the Eighth Race."

Nolan nodded. "Yeah, I've heard about that intel unit. Nothing ever came of it."

"Exactly. Which is why there are still a few lunatics still looking to score, and they think they may have found a link here in Defiance with the artifact Luke found."

Nolan wiped a hand across his face. "I'll see what I can dig up."

Amanda nodded. "I'm going to go through the Stasis log for the past couple of weeks, see if anything looks suspicious. I can try and get Doc to tap into an E-Rep database, see if we come up with a match." She glanced at the tent behind her. "Good thing Indogenes don't need a lot of sleep."

Nolan raised his eyebrows. "You can do that? Just go through E-Rep databases?"

"_Doc_ can do that. But only sparingly. We don't want to raise any eyebrows in the North." Her eyes drifted almost magnetically towards an Irathient woman who walked dazedly through the chaos. Her large eyes were flat and driftless as she headed for Doc's office; this woman wasn't looking for a survivor. "Jered's mother is here," Amanda said, her bravado suddenly gone. "The little boy's mother. I'll need to talk to her."

Nolan followed her gaze, and waited a few seconds. "You want me to do it?"

"No," she replied, a zealous touch to the refusal. This was also her loss, her grief, and she wouldn't run from it. "No, no, I'll do it." She inhaled, putting her hands on her hips, her eyes steely, but empathetic. "Just... let's get something to go right around here, okay?"

Nolan clapped her on the back. "If I could control that, I'd be Mayor." He winked at her, but understood the sadness behind her eyes, a responsibility far beyond what one person should handle. "Hang in there, Boss." She gave him a nod, brushing past him, her shoulders braced as if going into battle. From where Nolan stood, battle would be preferable.

* * *

Stahma spent most of the afternoon off her leg and in her library, shutting the door on both her husband and her son, after assuring them repeatedly that she was fine, if merely a bit tired. Truthfully, Datak's touch, although gentle and concerned, felt foreign to her, and she wanted nothing more than to be alone. She found her way to her bookshelf, grazing through the pages of the book she had given Selok so many years ago; the fact that she had been able to hold onto it during the Ark ride was a testament to its importance.

The door opened, and a startled Ashma jumped at the sight of her. "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Tarr," she said, her face reddening. "I thought you were upstairs in bed. I was just coming to water the plant. I'm so sorry, my apologies."

Stahma was surprised, but not by her intrusion. "Ashma, what are you doing here? After the storm, I thought you'd be with your family. Are they all right?"

Ashma smiled at the kindness, taking a few steps back into the room, her shoulders relaxing. "They're fine. Our home was spared, thank the gods. Mr. Tarr said you may need me here since he is still expected out of town tomorrow."

"That's not necessary, Ashma, you need to be with your family."

Ashma looked uncertain, and Stahma was reminded once again that in a Castithan household, her word meant nothing over that of her husband's. "I'll speak with Datak," she said, absorbing the ding to her pride, wondering when the small dents would add up to a bruised resentment. "Is he still in his office?"

"He's outside in the garden, supervising the clean-up," Ashma replied. "But, it's fine, I can really stay."

The news prickled Stahma's sense of ownership; if there was one place on the Tarr grounds that was immensely hers, it was the garden. She nodded a quick thanks and headed towards the patio, her limp less pronounced than before, but her leg still pulsing with a dulled pain. The newly replaced windows escaped any additional harm from the storm, which was an uncanny, if welcome, stroke of good fortune. Datak stood just outside the door, his eyes on a piece of debris that had been placed at his feet by a paid worker, who tramped over the grasses and flowers, plucking up scraps of fallen metal. He bent down toward it, angling it into the sunlight.

"What is that?" Stahma asked, coming to a stop beside him. "Part of the storm?"

"It's a piece of a scrapper," Datak replied, his face twisted in an odd grimace. "This isn't razor debris." He turned it thoughtfully in his hands. "Perhaps it's from the explosion the other night. That's a far sthaking cry from harmless gulaworks. No wonder it took out the whole patio." His brow furrowed for a moment, but then he seemed to register his wife standing beside him, and he got to his feet, putting a hand on her elbow. "You shouldn't be moving around, Stahma."

Stahma smiled, but pulled away from his touch, hoping he didn't notice. "I'm perfectly fine," she promised him. "More so than some. With no warning, the storm was devastating. We're fortunate we fared so well."

"I suppose," Datak said casually, guiding her back to the patio. "Why don't we get you into a warm bath? We'll have Ashma put in some eucalypto, it will help with the scarring on your leg."

"I'm sending Ashma home," Stahma answered, turning to him, taking some pleasure in stating her intention so matter-of-factly. That was one thing Datak afforded her that most Castithan men didn't allow: she spoke her mind with him.

"You may need her here tomorrow. I'll be out of town on business, remember?"

Stahma looked at him, not surprised that he would still find a way out of town, despite the hazards the storm brought. Most business owners, including Rafe McCawley, were pooling together recover resources. "Is this about your new investors, this meeting?"

"Yes," Datak said proudly, excitement brewing underneath his composure, a trait that only escaped him him when he was with his wife. "We're completing the deal."

"Datak, I overheard today that the Mayor requested your help in repairing the Stasis Net."

He raised his eyebrows, almost pleased that such news had made the rounds. "Did you? Has Amanda been tarnishing my name even more with the townspeople, or was this from that devil Rafe McCawley himself?"

"Does it matter?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying her, trying to see through her question. "I thought you were speaking with Amanda about her visit to the Old City... what ever came of that?"

Stahma swallowed, but finessed an answer that she knew would please him. "I spoke with her about it at the dinner. She was simply trying to track her old assistant's tracks. The boy who murdered Luke. Nothing more than that."

Datak nodded, sated. "You've been keeping in contact with her?" Stahma offered only a nod, an embarrassed heat running through her chest. "That's probably for the best. I want to know if she steps foot near the nuclear plant again. Any prowling about on her part or the Council's will only ruin the deal. The last thing I want to do is frighten away good money."

"And helping repair the Net? Would that have also hindered the deal?" Stahma's tone was far from accusatory, or so she hoped. She wanted to test him, and that required collusion, not accusation. Whatever line she was walking, she wasn't sure where it would lead her.

"It may have," Datak answered, guiding her back into the house, his hand on her back. This time, she didn't shy away from his touch, even though the same vague feeling of disgust ran from his fingers up her spine. "But, our debt lies not with this town, or with Amanda, or Rafe McCawley, or any of the shtaks that run this godsforsaken place. It's with the nuclear plant."

"People died today, Datak," Stahma said quietly, turning to look into his eyes, searching for some semblance of remorse, or even empathy. Instead, she saw only suspicion and mistrust, and she quickly changed her tone of voice, putting a reassuring hand on his forearm. "Don't you understand that people will blame you if this knowledge gets out? I'm just trying to look out for your image."

He placed both hands on her arms, looking intently at her, driving his point home with his stare. "We are through with this town, Stahma. In five years time, it won't even be here." His eyes glowed. "We're much bigger than this rancid, sthakhole town."

Stahma wanted to see the man who had won her heart in the Ark so many years ago, and for a moment she did: the recklessness, the sense of danger still emanated from her husband, but his sense of warmth was all but gone. Or perhaps she was the one who had changed, morphing into someone who no longer saw the new world as a place to conquer, but a place to live. "I thought our focus was on gaining power in the mines. Alak is marrying into the family. Have you abandoned that idea?"

"What I'm working on is something far bigger than we ever imagined. It's sourcing an energy that's much more powerful than any gulanite you've ever seen. This will lead to more than the mines, Stahma, but you have to trust me."

Something other than trust brewed in the pit of her stomach, and a suspicion of sorts buzzed at the back of her brain, burgeoned by Datak's insistence that Defiance would no longer be standing soon enough. Still, she had learned over the course of her life that one attracted more flies with honey, and she simply smiled, the gesture empty of an real emotion, but convincing nonetheless. "Of course, darling. I trust you." She wrapped a hand around the back of his head, stepping closer to him. "Who are these people? Investors from the Collective?"

He let her continue to stroke his hair. "They're not affiliated with the Collective. They're Humans, but not E-Reps. But they have their hands on Old Votech that hasn't been harnessed in decades." He took her hand, pressing it to his lips. "I can share more with you after my trip, my dear, if you're fully with me on this. But, I need your support, not your questions."

She didn't offer a direct answer. "How can I best help you?"

He smiled, a signal that her charms came off as authentic, at least to him. "They're coming into town after our meeting in the North. How about you treat them to one of your wonderful dinners?" He pressed a kiss against her lips. "That should help seal the deal quite spectacularly."

"Of course, my love," she said quietly, giving him a peck on the cheek, his scent so different from Amanda's, muskier and darker. "Anything for you." She turned away from him, walking slowly back up the stairs, betrayal fluttering just underneath her skin, bubbling like the water that would soon run in their bath. Something had shifted for her, and she felt the life she knew slowly slipping from her, like a rug being tugged from beneath her feet.

* * *

**Poor Stahma. Poor Amanda. They are in need of a relaxing bath, no?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**Note: This chapter was posted in close proximity to Chapter Seven, so make sure you've read that one before moving on - thanks!**

A little over twenty-four hours had passed since the first hit of razor rain, and Amanda had managed to sleep for only four of them, and even that short slumber was accidental, coming over her in the middle of a planning session with Lana. Her exhaustion was so palpable that Kenya offered to drive her to Jered's memorial service, the two of them winding silently up the narrow, gravel path to the site. The trees around the Irath memorial ground were some of the tallest in the grove just outside of the town, and Amanda had long appreciated the numerous ceremonies she had attended there. The Irath chants floated upwards, into the leaves, but the sounds still blanketed those left behind, still left to the Earth.

Jered, the young boy, had already been bathed and wrapped, his family watching as his body was buried beneath the very earth he had walked upon only a day before. Amanda's condolences to the family seemed small and inadequate, but she gave them anyway, showing her support in the only way that she knew how: by offering stoic, but hopefully encouraging remarks, rhetoric for the soul.

She stood at the back of the service now, her role fulfilled, but she couldn't bear to leave, wanting to keep a watchful eye on the family, hoping that by her mere presence, she could help share in the weight of grief that blanketed them. Kenya put an arm around her back, her mascara marred from shed tears. "You ready to head back?"

Amanda nodded, but as they turned a hand caught her forearm. She recognized the girl, no older than fifteen, as the boy's sister, her hair just as red as her little brother's. "Mayor?" the girl began, hesitating for a moment before stammering out her intended words. "I just want you to know that I appreciate what you tried to do for my brother. I heard the story."

Amanda stood silently, but managed to give a pained nod. "I'm so sorry I didn't get to him sooner."

"This was his," the girl said, placing a small charm in her hand, a sphere carved from wood, with angled ridges set along its surface. "He kept it in his room. It's the Irath symbol for..." she stumbled for a moment, pushing a strand of dark, auburn hair out of her eyes. "I'm not sure of the word in your language... selflessness, I think. He had a lot of these little things he collected. It makes sense that you have this one."

Amanda couldn't quite summon words to overcome the large marble of emotion lodged at the back of her throat, but she nodded, looking into the girl's large green eyes. "Thank you," she offered. "This means very much to me."

The girl nodded, her task complete, and she turned, walking back to her family, her shoulders hunched with the weight of loss. Amanda exhaled slowly, staring down at the small object in her palm. Kenya reached for her other hand, giving it a squeeze. "You okay?"

"Yes," she replied forcefully, but put a hand over her mouth, swallowing, her eyes darting around the periphery of the woods. "I just need a minute." She walked off with no further explanation, heading further into the grove of trees. Focusing on the crunch of terraneedles under her feet kept thoughts of the boy's devastated family at bay for a few moments, but the charm in her hand pulled her back to them. She dropped onto a rock, putting her head in her hands, a sob releasing the pressure in her chest like a valve. Just as quickly as it came, she quieted herself, running a reprimanding hand over her eyes, closeting the emotion back inside her.

Footsteps crunched over the earth, and Kenya's voice floated behind her. "You're like a dog who goes to the woods to die. You just come here to cry."

Amanda chuckled, her laugh tinged with sadness, and swiped a hand under her nose. "I never did manage to learn how to cry like a lady," she replied.

"You never learned how to sit like one, either," Kenya pointed out, pushing her over on the rock and squeezing beside her. "I didn't come over here to try and convince you that you did everything you could. Or that you shouldn't feel absolutely terrible. Or feel like a total failure."

"You've gotten better at these pep talks over the years, Mouse."

Kenya looked at her, sharing a sad smile. "I know that you love this town, Amanda, and everyone in it. For reasons that I can't even begin to understand. It hurts to see you going through all of this, trying to take care of all of us." She paused, looking out at the trees. "But, I am so proud that you're the one leading us. Even through all of this shtako."

Amanda stared at her sister, wondering when she had become the sensible, pragmatic woman in front of her, rather than the bratty, stubborn child she had worked so hard to care for their entire lives. For the first time in a long while, she felt time passing underneath her feet, the days a mere ticking clock. "When did you get so sweet?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "You used to give me such shtako. All the time."

"I was just helping you build up a little backbone, that's all. Preparing you for office."

Amanda chuckled softly, putting an arm around Kenya's shoulders, pulling her close. "Thank you," she said, pecking the crown of her head. "I'm just glad you're okay. I love this town, Kenya, but you're my world, you know that."

Kenya didn't respond, but instead let her head rest on her sister's shoulders, the sway of the trees transporting her to a different time. "Do you remember those ice cream pops that we used to get on 7th Avenue? The ones with the gourmet flavors, that kids our age had no business eating?"

Amanda smiled into Kenya's dark hair, recalling even the taste of the ice cream, the memory suddenly so visceral in her mind. "The blueberry used to turn your lips blue. Mom could always tell when we'd had one."

"She'd go berserk, wouldn't she?" Kenya asked, smiling up at her before directing her gaze back to the trees. "It was totally worth it, though."

Amanda felt a guilt nip at the back of her neck. Her memories of their mother had been tainted for years, tarnished by a knowledge that she never shared with Kenya. "Worth it for you, maybe. You didn't have to hear her go berserk after we got back."

"The perils of an older sister." Kenya leaned away from her. "You always protected me from things."

"The only thing I can't protect you from is yourself," Amanda said with a small smile, pushing her sister's leg off her lap.

"Ditto," Kenya replied, her tone lighter than her eyes. Growing up, after the Ark Falls, Amanda never showed her fear, never once let Kenya think that they weren't going to make it. Even as they grew older, she kept things bottled tightly inside, and Kenya often wondered who or what served as an outlet for Amanda's outbursts when they inevitably came. "I know you have your secrets, Bee." She stood. "But, at some point, you have to remember that I'm your sister. I'm the one you're supposed to share your secrets with, remember? You don't have to protect me from them." She smiled, leaning down and placing a kiss on the top of Amanda's head. "Take all the time you need. I'll be at the roller."

Amanda listened to Kenya's footsteps become lighter, but her secrets only got heavier. Her hailer buzzed at her side, and, grateful for the distraction, she wiped a hand over her eyes, looking down at the message across her screen: _I've got records for you._

She put the hailer back in her belt, getting to her feet. Tears and grief could wait: she had work to do.

* * *

Stahma sat in the kitchen, the hiss of the kettle the only sound other than the tapping of her fingernails on the white lacquered table, a physical sign of the anxiety waxing and waning through her. She succeeded in keeping Ashma home for another day, but only after promising her there would be no change to her wages. Datak left that morning, and with him gone, she felt as if she could finally breathe.

She spent the day inside, knowing that if she ventured out, she would inevitably wander towards the Irath boy's funeral service, which would only send her spiraling once again. Instead, she spent some time in Datak's office, a place she hadn't felt welcome in over a year, and even sitting down at his desk, a place where she used to help him complete figures, felt strange. He kept nothing of interest there now, which only piqued her curiosity about whoever was currently wooing him at Tarr Industries. Her husband was a hothead, and this stretched into his business practices as well, sending him reaching for opportunities that a more pragmatic man, or woman, would leave well enough alone.

She poured a cup of tea for herself and one for Alak, whose voice drifted through the walls. From the irritation in his tone, he could only be speaking with his father, and as his voice got louder, Stahma turned, eyeing him as he entered the kitchen.

"Dad, with all due respect, there are bigger things happening in Defiance right now. I've got a radio show to do, and people are counting on a storm recovery update." He leaned against the doorway, rolling his eyes.

"What's going on?" Stahma asked, beckoning for him to join her at the table.

"It's not a real job because you won't give me enough time off to actually pursue it." Stahma gestured for him to hand her the phone, and Alak turned to her. "Dad wants me to go into the office and scrap around something for him, like I'm a personal assistant." He handed over the hailer, yelling into it as he did so. "Maybe if you'd pay one, instead of relying on interns, you'd have someone to do your grunt work for you!"

Stahma put a hand on his forearm, a signal to calm him down. "Datak, darling, what is it you need?" she asked, pushing Alak's mug towards him. As she listened to her husband's request, opportunity seemed to fall into her lap like a series of building blocks, waiting for her to erect them into something useful. "Why don't I go to the office for you?" she offered. "I'm doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs here, and I'm happy to help."

Alak rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, but she simply smiled at him. His mother had a way of patching things over between him and his father, a patience that he didn't possess. "Just tell me what payroll documents you need, and consider it done, darling." She listened again, this time a spark of betrayal catching in her, alighting in her like a flame. As she hung up the phone, Alak shook his head.

"You're trying to make me look bad, aren't you?"

"Of course not, dear," she said, running a hand through his hair. "You do your show at the Arch, and I'll help your father. You forget, I used to help him all the time. This is simply like old times." She kissed his forehead. "Give me your security card and you're free to go."

She smiled, a useful expression, one that covered the sense of danger she felt lurking just behind her, ready to snag her at any given moment. As she gathered her things, slipping into the darkening night, she hoped whatever she managed to discover in Datak's office would repair her connection to her husband, not sever it completely.

* * *

The sound of water filling the tub helped drown out Amanda's thoughts as she stood absently, staring into the tiled nothingness of the bathroom wall. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the boy's lifeless ones peering up at her, which is why she brought not only a glass of Scotch into her bathroom, but the entire bottle. Tomorrow would be filled with more tragedy, more memorials, and for now she just wanted to lose herself in her own solitude, if only to restore whatever reserves of faith she had in such an arbitrary world.

Her doorbell rang, but it took several seconds for Amanda to pinpoint the source of the sound that interrupted her thoughts. She set her Scotch on a side table in the living room, grabbing her charge blade and sticking it in her back pocket, a habit she'd honed during years of living alone. Peeking through the window, though, she abandoned all thoughts of the knife and yanked the door open.

Stahma stood in the doorway, her pale hair pinned up in a haphazard bun, her eyes a deep, red-rimmed lilac. Amanda gestured her inside, noting that she held none of the prideful poise that she normally did, and her tall, thin frame appeared suddenly vulnerable. Amanda offered to take her cloak, which was pulled loosely over her shoulders, but Stahma declined, her fingers gripping the small leather bag that she held.

"Are you okay?" Amanda asked, her hands braced outwards, as if waiting to catch her.

"You're here," Stahma observed, as if she hadn't been expecting it, despite the fact that she'd driven straight from Datak's office to Amanda's home. "I thought you may be at the office."

"What are you doing here?" Amanda busily stacked the pile of E-Rep records that were fanned across documents her coffee table, pushing them under a pile of unread newspapers. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Stahma said nothing as took a seat on a chair, sinking into its cushion. "When you asked Datak for help in repairing the mines, what did he say to you?"

Amanda glanced curiously at her. "Why don't you ask him?"

It was a fair question, and one Stahma should have been prepared to answer, but the stolen documents in her purse became heavier, a reminder of a betrayal that she still had time to rectify, if she just went home. "I shouldn't be here," she said, attempting to talk herself out of what she had come to do. Going home, waiting for Datak, would certainly take less courage than going against everything she had ever been taught about marriage and loyalty.

"Hey," Amanda said, reaching out for her. "First, don't play so hard to get, okay?" She smiled, pulling Stahma back to the chair. "Second, sit down and don't put so much weight on your leg." She sat on the coffee table, and put her elbows on her knees, her voice businesslike, but fair. "Datak wanted a seat on the council, which I very well couldn't just hand over to him without the approval of the other members. I tried to explain to him that helping with the Net would be just the type of gesture the other members would need to see before giving him that type of a post, but Datak didn't see it that way."

"He saw it as a matter of disrespect," Stahma finished.

"Yes." Amanda nodded. "But, for what it's worth, I don't disrespect him because he's Votan, or pale, or any other characterstic he wants to throw out at me. I disprespect him because he's vindictive and cruel to people who he knows can't stand up to him." Normally, that sort of remark would have gotten a reaction from Stahma, but tonight she simply sat quietly, glancing down at the bag in her lap. "Stahma?"

After a long moment, Stahma peered at Amanda, her eyes holding a strange uncertainty. "I have something I want to share with you. I don't know exactly what it means, but I think it could be important to the town's security." Her hands shook as she fumbled with the latch on her purse, and she stopped for a moment, caught in a moral limbo. "There is severe punishment for betrayal in Castithan law," she murmured, avoiding Amanda's eyes.

Amanda had heard, rather than seen, what Datak was capable of when it came to restoring a fallen Castithan's honor, and she suddenly understood that whatever Stahma had come to see her about, it was serious. "Not in Defiance law," she pointed out. "Stahma, talk to me. Is this about Datak?"

"I know Datak is your enemy," Stahma began. "But, he is a good man, underneath it all."

"Underneath what, exactly?" Amanda waited, and once again Stahma looked as if she were about to lose whatever nerve had brought her all the way to the Mayor's home. "Whatever it is, Stahma, I'll do everything in my power to protect you." She leaned forward, catching her eye. "You know that."

"Someone reached out to Datak," Stahma began slowly. "Someone who wants to get closer to the nuclear plant. Datak's been very secretive about it, which is not as unusual lately as it would have been..." She trailed off, remembering what their partnership used to be like. "So, I did some searching myself, and this investor, a Mr. Birch, doesn't seem to have any interest in keeping the town of Defiance alive for much longer. Not by the looks of his plan."

"What plan?" Amanda asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would remind Stahma of the egregious betrayal she was committing.

"It's here," Stahma said, handing over a small envelope from her bag. "This is all I could get from the chip in Datak's office. I had no way to copy it. It's a new energy of sorts, but one that needs to be jumpstarted by the plant. It won't work without some sort of key, something about unlocking a new power source."

"Holy shtako," Amanda breathed, taking a look at the documents.

Stahma, now that she had begun, needed to unburden herself more. "Yesterday, Datak discovered a piece of scrapper equipment in the garden. He suspects it's from the explosion, which could be accurate, but that sort of equipment is far above a simple gulaworks explosion. Perhaps someone has discovered the plan and is attempting to sabotage it?"

"Scrapper..." Amanda trailed off, her mind connecting disparate pieces that were all of a sudden coming together into something much bigger than she had imagined. "Why not just go to Datak with this?" she asked, a hint of old suspicion tugging at the back of her mind. "Why come to me with this sort of information?"

Stahma was quiet for a moment, having toyed with that same question for most of the day. "Because I know Datak doesn't care about trying to save this town. He doesn't care about the people that live here, or the lives we've made. But, you do." She pressed forward, justifying her own betrayal. "These people are clearly just using Datak. He's just so power hungry he can't even see it. You have to promise me that you'll take that into consideration in whatever you do going forward."

"Stahma, I can't promise something like that. If Datak is working with them, then he's culpable."

"Then I can't promise you any more inside knowledge."

Amanda paused, searching Stahma's eyes. "You're trying to save him, aren't you? By telling me this?"

Tears burned behind Stahma's eyes. "I'm trying to save my family."

It was merely another reminder that their paths would never truly merge; Stahma had a husband, a family, and a life that was laid out for her already, one that didn't include Amanda. "And I'm trying to save a town," Amanda replied, brushing off the disappointment that sliced through her. "For now, those things aren't mutually exclusive. I'll do what I can, okay?" She waited for Stahma's nod before pushing further. "Have you met these investors, this..." she glanced down at the name that appeared on the pages in her lap. "Birch?"

"No. But, he will be visiting when Datak returns. I'll be hosting a dinner for them." She chuckled nervously. "After all, that's what I do best."

"Listen, Stahma," Amanda said, leaning toward her. "I need you to push and see if you can figure out any connection between Birch and the disbanded Earth Military Coalition."

"Do you already know this Birch?" Stahma asked. "Is that what you were looking for the other night in Datak's office?"

"No, but if there's a connection, I need to know about it." The name hadn't come across any of the E-Rep records that Doc gave her, which only meant that whoever was behind the attacks was using it as an alias.

Stahma looked curiously at her. "What sort of connection?" Amanda didn't immediately answer, and for the first time since her arrival, Stahma felt vulnerable. "Amanda, I have risked my life to share this information with you. The least you can do is be honest with me in return. What is going on?"

"Luke's murder may be tied to this 'key' or whatever it is that Birch needs to execute this plan. It may be Eighth Race technology they're working on."

Stahma laughed, surprised. "There's no such thing. That technology was destroyed in the air, it never made it to this Earth."

"There's an old faction from the Earth Military Coalition that doesn't believe that."

Stahma's doubt waned, wiping the smile from her face as she remembered her conversation with Datak before he left. "Datak said he's working with Humans," she said softly. "Humans not connected to the Earth Republic..."

Amanda leaned into her. "When is Datak coming back to town?"

"Tomorrow night."

"And he's bringing this Birch guy with him?"

"From what I gather, yes."

"I can have Nolan get them at the Net and take them straight into the station, no questions asked, and interrogate the shtako out of him."

Stahma knew Amanda was offering her a way out, a way to secure her dignity with Datak. "That won't help you if you actually want him to be tried in the system, will it?" she asked, pausing for a moment, the silence confirming her answer. "You need harder evidence for that."

"Most likely, yes."

"I'll help you." The deed done, Stahma felt one weight lift from her shoulders, only to be replaced with another, more resigned guilt. And something else: fear.

Amanda searched her eyes for some connection, laying the coveted documents on the table. Their exchange so far had been secretive, but official, and she had a hard time watching Stahma, not knowing how she had coped over the past twenty-four hours, but she could tell something had changed for her. Stahma finally met her eyes, and they were filled with more than mere loneliness: there was an emptiness also, a longing, which prompted Amanda to lean forward and take her hand. "How are you holding up?"

The kindness was unexpected and undeserved, especially after Stahma's failures of the past day, both with the boy, and now with her marriage. If she lost herself in that kindness, she was afraid she would never leave it. "I'm okay," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb you with all of this, I know you've been through a lot." She put a hand to Amanda's cheek, running her thumb under a weary eye. "You look exhausted, my dear."

The touch felt nice, even if it would only lead to disappointment later. "Words that every woman loves to hear," Amanda replied, with a light smile. "The only thing you disturbed was a warm bath."

Stahma's eyes widened slightly, taken aback. "You were bathing alone?"

Amanda cocked her head. "Last time I checked," she said, smiling at Stahma's naïveté. "Not everyone bathes the Castithan way," she reminded her.

"I've never bathed alone," Stahma admitted. "It's considered quite taboo, a dishonor to one's husband."

Amanda leaned out of her touch, raising one eyebrow. "Would you like to give it a try?" she asked. "I can run you one, and you can sit and enjoy your dishonor for as long as you like. I'll never tell."

Stahma smiled, knowing that Amanda was simply trying to put her at ease, to relieve some of the tension between them. Stahma had destroyed her honor long ago, but the woman in front of her had proven worth it time and time again, and she wanted the comfort that she could provide. "I don't wish to bathe alone," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving Amanda's, communicating a tacit request.

Amanda raised an eyebrow, as if confirming the words before taking Stahma's hand and leading her down the narrow back hallway. Stahma took note of the comfortable, yet feminine simplicity of the home, but said nothing, for fear of breaking the enchantment that was leading her to bathe with another woman.

Amanda lead her into the bathroom, flipping on the water once again, its sound drowning out the thumping of her heart. Stahma glanced around at the space, which was much smaller than what she was used to at her own home. "I don't know why you Humans insist on calling it a bath 'room'," she murmured, shaking her head.

Amanda hid a smile as she ran her fingers under the water, calibrating it to the perfect temperature before standing. "Don't be such a snob," she chided. "It has its perks."

Stahma watched her pour in a few bath crystals, their glow evaporating in the water and emanating the space with a lavender scent. They undressed silently, and Amanda reached for her, helping her into the tub. They each sat at one end, backs against the porcelain, their legs intertwining, slick with the luster of the bath salts. Amanda's eyes raked gently over Stahma, not with their usual sexual hunger, but with a softness that made Stahma feel more whole, complete in a way that she hadn't felt in a long while.

"What do you think?" Amanda asked after a few moments.

"It's quaint," Stahma replied, but the words only brought a small chuckle and a splash from Amanda. "What?" she asked, confused. "Is that an insult?"

Amanda laughed. "I need you to take your marusha down a few notches."

Stahma was still confused, but she smiled anyway. "Your Human language is quite imprecise, you know that?"

"Maybe. But where would my rhetoric be without it?"

Stahma didn't reply, but merely leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, content with the way that their legs rubbed against each other. "This sort of bathing is relaxing in a very different way than my own."

Amanda mimicked her movement, letting her own head fall backwards. "With all due respect, Stahma, I don't need to hear about you and Datak's bath life."

Stahma opened one eye. "You Humans misconstrue our baths often. It isn't solely about sexual contact. It's about family and connection. I used to bathe with my family all the time on Casti."

Amanda raised her head, peering over at her. "Why don't you ever talk about your family? You talk about Datak and Alak as if they're your world, but you never mention any of your own family."

Stahma kept her eyes closed, as if the question were some physical thing hanging over her that she could ignore as long as she didn't see it. "The same reasons you don't speak of your own."

Amanda exhaled, running a finger over the surface of the water. The words were a sort of challenge, which was easier to meet with Stahma's eyes closed, giving her some sense of space as she exhaled, giving voice to a story that up until then had replayed only in her head. "I don't know what happened to my mother." She swallowed, her eyes focusing on the ripples in the water her finger left behind. "She abandoned us after the Siege. After my father died. One day she just couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't take care of us. We were scavenging around in some trailer, I don't even remember where. There was an explosion and she didn't want to go back for Kenya."

"And you did?"

Amanda nodded, the heated water making her flush with embarrassment.

Stahma lifted her head, shifting slightly, and ran a hand ran over Amanda's lower leg. "You never saw her again?"

"I told Kenya she died, but that we weren't sure how it happened. If I'd been a little older, maybe I could have come up with a better lie, but it stuck, even after all these years. She could be alive, for all I know. In Manhattan, or further South, or even in Antarctica, living it up." Amanda swallowed, bitterness breaking through her voice. "It's better if I think she's dead."

Stahma could tell by Amanda's exhale, the shakiness of her fingers on the water, that this was the first time this particular truth had been shared, and she recognized it as an offering, a sign of trust. "That's not an easy life, Amanda. Even for this world."

"Like you said, we both have ghosts." Amanda peered up at her, this time lofting the challenge back at her, requesting something just as meaningful, some insight into her past.

It was an intimacy neither had shared before, but in the confines of the tub, the small bathroom, Stahma felt safe. "We had a word for Selok," she began, her voice low. " A condition, a bit like your... autism, I believe, you used to call it here. I always liked to think he was a savante - after all, we took care of them, and to me, Selok was brilliant. The things he came up with, the stories. He had an imagination." She closed her eyes momentarily, letting his image overtake her mind. "When it came time to board the Arks, I knew my parents weren't going to allow him to board. Each race had their own qualifications for boarding, and despite our lori, Selok didn't meet them. I didn't have a way to say refute my parents, or to sneak him aboard. I was stupid, naive. I missed him terribly, it was like someone had ripped me apart. And the guilt... I hated myself. I rebelled in ways that I hadn't ever before... that's when I met Datak."

"He was a distraction?"

"He was what I needed at that point in my life."

A beat passed, before Amanda pressed further. "What about now?"

Stahma felt the question's weight, and she frowned. "It's not that simple now."

Amanda nodded, her eyes looking at the small bubbles grazing the surface of the water, and she popped one with her finger. "Women are never simple."

Stahma smiled at her, pushing a hand towards her under the water, a small current sweeping over her knee. "You would get bored with them if they were." The water fanned outwards, and she studied Amanda, attempting to siphon out the currents that ran underneath her, thoughts that she could never quite decipher. "Have you ever thought of taking a wife?"

Amanda raised an amused eyebrow. "First of all, I'd never 'take a wife'," she said with a chuckle. "We twenty-first century Humans do things a little differently."

"You do a number of things differently," Stahma answered, unperturbed by Amanda's laughter. "I know you don't do marriage baths, for one."

"Thank god for that," Amanda replied, smiling as she reached for her glass. "Besides, most of our baths aren't big enough for that, as you so kindly pointed out. The entire family bathes with one another, in-laws and all?"

"Yes."

"And I thought rehearsal dinners were bad."

Stahma leaned forward. "Give me your hand," she said, grasping Amanda's wet fingers. "It's about purification and union," she answered. "You submerge separately and grasp each other underwater." She dipped both of their hands underneath the surface, the bubbles wafting over them. "Your family watches you come up as one." She lifted their hands, her eyes connecting with Amanda's, both of them aware of the symbolism of the moment.

"Then what?" Amanda asked quietly.

"The family waits, celebrating with a prayer and wine while the betrothed complete their union." Stahma shifted in the water, getting to her knees, and moved closer to Amanda. "Having family present increases the notion that the union will result in children, strengthening the bond." She rested between Amanda's knees, leaning into her and chastely kissing the bottom of her jaw.

"If I ever married a Castithan woman, I'd remind the family that our union won't exactly result in children, at least not without some help. Therefore, no need for them to stick around and wait for us to consumate." Stahma's laughter tickled her ear, sending a small shudder through her despite the warmth of the water.

"You have a point," Stahma said, turning and settling her back into Amanda's chest, the action unrestrained, as if it was a position she'd been perfecting for years. "If I can't have you, no Castithan woman can," she said playfully, kissing Amanda's forearm.

"Then that settles that," Amanda replied. "I'm moving onto Irathient women." She smiled, but it quickly faded, and she rested her cheek against the back of Stahma's head. "What we're doing is dangerous for you, isn't it?"

"It's dangerous for both of us." Stahma ran a finger up Amanda's arm, the skin soft compared to her husband's. "You know of our customs. I don't have to tell you how dangerous it is." She sighed, her chest rising. "And yet, here I am."

They sat a few moments longer, absorbing the quiet and each other's touches, until the water turned slowly cooler. Stahma noticed the small goosebumps appearing on Amanda's arm, and she rose, water dripping from her body as she took Amanda's hand. "Humans weren't made to soak, I see."

Amanda laughed, stepping out of the tub and handing her a towel and wrapping a second around her torso. She plucked a robe from her bedroom closet, one that she rarely wore, but didn't get rid of because it made her feel like an adult to have a bathrobe. She handed it to Stahma, who took it, but didn't put it on. "You Humans and your unwillingness to enjoy the nude body." She walked over to Amanda, pulling at the towel that she had wrapped around herself, sending it falling to the floor. Their bodies touched, and Stahma peered into her eyes, the low light in the bedroom making them a darker green. She wanted to kiss her, or to fall into their usual lovemaking, some way to get rid of the pounding in her heart, but something, a sadness, weighted her limbs, making her unable to move.

Amanda moved for them, wrapping her arms around Stahma and pulling her into an embrace. In those arms, Stahma felt understanding, acknowledgment, all of the things that she tried to understand for herself since that morning in the schoolyard, and couldn't.

"Stay," Amanda whispered, the request trailing down Stahma's back, its warmth searing into her spine. She didn't respond, knowing that they were crossing a line, a dangerous line. Instead, she pulled away from the embrace and sunk onto the bed, the heaviness of the last two days pulling her into its soft depths.

Amanda followed, wrapping her arms around Stahma's waist, her fingers gently exploring her stomach, her shoulders, her back, her arms, the sides of her legs, all the places that she had touched before during their lovemaking. Tonight, however, the touch felt more intimate than ever, and Stahma closed her eyes, falling into a safe, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**If you're enjoying, let me know... if you're not, let me know :) Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

A shrill, high-pitched ring pierced Stahma's subconscious, riling her out of a peaceful sleep. The sound repeated obnoxiously, blaring into Amanda's bedroom, which was now dimly lit by the rising sun peeking through the curtained windows. Amanda's hand slammed down on her hailer, the source of the reverberating sound, silencing the alarm before returning her arm to its comfortable perch on Stahma's hip.

"What an absolutely dreadful way to wake up," Stahma murmured, putting a hand to her temple.

"What do you wake up to?" Amanda mumbled, the words barely audible, tickling Stahma's ear. "Unicorn chimes?"

Stahma laughed, turning and kissing the rounded curve of Amanda's shoulder before grazing her lips along her collarbone, and then lower, to the tops of her breasts.

Amanda stirred, her eyes fluttering open as Stahma's mouth found her nipple, the sensation arousing her far more than her alarm ever could. "Although this is a pleasant way to wake up, too," she breathed.

Stahma nipped softly at the hardening bud, moving lower across Amanda's stomach. "It gets the blood flowing..." Her tongue skipped lower, flicking across Amanda's center. "... in certain places."

Amanda peered down at Stahma, mouth slightly open, her thoughts still muddled with sleep. "Is this happening?" she muttered lightly, dipping her head back against the pillow as Stahma locked onto her most sensitive spot. "Shtako, this is happening," she finished, her words disappearing into a panted sigh, her fingers gripping the sheets. Stahma's hands floated up her hips and her sides, her fingers toying with her nipples as her tongue continued its steady rhythm. It had been awhile since Amanda had received such a wake up call, and her subconscious was barely able to register more than the physical sensations between her legs.

Her hailer buzzed, vibrating angrily against the bedside table. Amanda groaned, ignoring it for a few moments before finally grabbing it, her eyes hastily scrolling the message on the screen, simultaneously angling her hips as Stahma's tongue slipped inside her. As she tossed it back to the bed, the mounting pleasure stalled, and Stahma's lilac eyes peered questioningly from between her thighs. "Do you need to go?" she asked, her eyes floating to the hailer on the bedside table.

Amanda's narrow hips writhed upwards, begging for more attention. "Yes," she managed, a flush creeping from her neck to the top of her chest. "But first I need to come."

Stahma laughed softly at the honesty, her breath only tickling Amanda further into oblivion, and she resumed her task, now with a faster, steadier tongue. After a few moments, Amanda's hand found its way into her pale hair, pulling her even closer. Stahma peered fleetingly up at her, enjoying not only her taste, but her appearance: tussled hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes half-closed with pleasure, intermittently biting her lower lip as her moans became more pronounced.

Amanda was only half aware of Stahma's warm gaze, her consciousness focused on the pleasurable tension building between her legs, which effectively overpowered any part of her brain that questioned why she was slipping once again so easily into the role of mistress. Her breath came quicker, interspersed with moans as Stahma took her closer and closer to the edge, and as her orgasm shuddered through her, her hips writhing into the sheets, she let out a shaky, self-conscious laugh. "How did you get so good at that?"

Stahma moved upwards, resting on top of her, both of their bodies warm to the other's touch. Amanda rolled Stahma onto her back, her hands running hungrily over her translucent skin. As her lips followed the same track that Stahma's had on her own body, the hailer buzzed again. Amanda made no move to answer it, but Stahma reached for it, handing it to her with a supportive, understanding smile. "Duty beckons."

Amanda sighed, taking the gadget, disappointment etched across her face as she sat back on her heels. "'Duty calls'," she corrected, eyeing the missed hail from Lana that blinked up at her. "And duty sucks."

Stahma pulled out from underneath her with a smile, climbing off the bed and pulling on the robe that she had abandoned the night before. "Don't say things you don't mean. You love your job." As she stepped into the bathroom, running cool water over her face, Amanda tumbled out of bed and towards her closet, disappearing inside it. It took her only moments to pull on her usual riding pants and tank, but by the time she made it to the bathroom, Stahma had disappeared, her footsteps padding lightly down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Amanda returned Lana's hail, leaving her assistant to interpret her words as she hastily brushed her teeth, already mindful that her day's schedule was filling up, and she hadn't even managed to leave the house. "Great, Lana, thanks for the heads up. I'll see you at the office." Amanda struggled to pull on the second sleeve of her jacket as she made her way down the hall, but stopped, watching Stahma maneuver the kitchen, her tall, pale figure peering into the refrigerator and frowning before pulling out a pint of milk and a half a loaf of bread.

Amanda instinctively smiled, but it faded as she remembered that this was merely a mirage; a one-night slip-up that, in the end, meant little more than the fact that she was still the other woman. Stahma's appearance in her kitchen was fleeting, temporary, a flash of something she would never have. Stahma turned, as if sensing her. "Some black tea," she said, gesturing to two mugs on the counter. "I'll make you some bread and jam. Your pantry is quite dismal."

"Stahma, you don't have to do that," Amanda said, moving into the kitchen, but she stayed to the other side of the room, the expanse between them a substitute for the emotional distance she wasn't able to keep. She had never had an affair before, and wondered how people navigated them so well; the roller-coaster this one had her on was exhausting.

"I don't mind."

"No, really, Stahma, it's fine. I'll get something on the way into the office." Her tone was clipped, rushed, resembling nothing like her voice back in her bedroom.

Stahma looked curiously at her, noticing the change. "You're not used to someone being here, are you?" She stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from Amanda's eyes. "Don't worry, we both know I won't be here when you get back." She dipped her head, just slightly, the same demure gesture that had won Amanda over and over again. "Just enjoy it for now."

Amanda took a careful step away from her, taking the jam from the counter. "I think this is from last year," she said, tossing it into the trash can. "Looks like bread and butter will have to do."

"Spoken like a true pauper," Stahma replied, cutting a slice of bread from the loaf on the counter. Amanda was a champion at masking her true feelings, covering her emotions with a steely, determined mask. Stahma couldn't blame her for pulling on such a veil of self-protection after their intimate night, and she tried to set her at ease. "Your home, it's nice. Warm."

"In a quaint way?" Amanda teased, prompting Stahma to glance back at her over her shoulder.

"I am trying to be serious," she said, turning back to her task, swiping a knife through a small vat of butter. "What is your Human saying..." she paused, staring out of the small window above the counter until the words came back to her. "Ah, 'home is where the heart is'," she recited. "I never understood that phrase. On Casti, your 'home' was a symbol of your status. Everything you placed in it was meant as a reminder of who you were supposed to be, not who you were. That's much like my own home, lately."

Amanda struggled for a moment, internally battling her urge to wrap her arms around Stahma and offer some sort of comfort. Instead, she spoke from the same safe distance across the room. "If you change your mind about this dinner tonight, Stahma, it's okay. You don't have to do this."

Stahma didn't turn around, but her tone was resolute. "I've chosen. There's no going back."

Amanda stepped to a far drawer, fishing around for a moment before pulling out an old hailer and a small, silver necklace with a small orb at its center. "Here," she said, laying both items on the counter next to the half-sliced loaf of bread. "This hailer used to be mine, before I became tied to my work one. Only use this to reach me." She pointed to the thin silver chain. "This is an old recorder chip I used to use as Nicky's assistant, if she needed me to take a meeting verbatim. It's discreet and should still get the job done." Stahma nodded, opening her mouth to say something, but Amanda was already on the move, yanking open another drawer, this time pulling out a lone,gold key. "Lock up when you leave and keep this with you, just in case..." she hesitated, not exactly sure what she was trying to say. "Just in case you need a place to go."

"I should have enough to keep me busy today." Stahma took the key, placing it next to the hailer and the recorder, a symbolic triad of her discreet betrayal. "After all, I have a dinner to plan." She smiled, but the corners of her lips twitched, belying the fear that lay dormant just underneath her poise. She averted her gaze, her task now daunting, requiring an energy and stamina that she wasn't sure she had. "Take your tea to go," she said, pushing off the counter and busying her hands. "It's much better than that dreadful coffee your species swears such allegiance to."

Amanda took the mug of tea, but made no move to leave. "If you can, hail me after the dinner. We can meet at the tailor's tomorrow morning. It's a casual enough place to run into one another."

Stahma nodded. "Datak usually leaves for work around eight."

Amanda's mouth was suddenly dry, and the black tea only parched her even more, anxiety quickening her pulse. "Remember, if you need anything, hail me. And be careful. If anything feels remotely strange, then all you're doing is having dinner, nothing more. If you feel like Datak suspects anything, then get rid of the recorder and forget about the entire thing."

Stahma smiled briefly at her before closing the space between them. "You are sweet when you're protective, Amanda. But you're not the only woman who knows how to play the game."

"I know all too well how adept you are at playing games." Amanda nodded. "I respect it."

Stahma stared at her, aware that her power in their arrangement, her obligation to her own family, would always be the obstacle that kept Amanda from fully opening up to her. "Amanda, I can't give you what you deserve," she said quietly. "But, I'm giving you as much as I can."

Amanda paused, letting reality etch its way under her skin once more. "Same here," she agreed, meeting Stahma's eyes, which, despite their constant coolness, stared kindly at her. "Don't snoop around to much," Amanda continued, taking the slice of buttered bread from the counter. "It's unladylike." She smiled once more, but there was a sadness behind it, and as she turned, her braid flapped against her leather jacket, a symbol of an innocence that Stahma had long ago crushed.

The sound of Amanda's roller drifted through the walls from outside, and Stahma listened as the tires ground against the gravel drive, fading away to nothing. The house was quiet, much quieter than her own home, where Ashma or another servant seemed to always be around every corner. Taking a sip of her tea, the mug warm against the palms of her hands, Stahma walked slowly around the living room, pausing to note the photographs that sat along the side tables and shelves like talismans of a life that only begun in Defiance. Stahma knew that feeling all too well, the covering up of a past too painful to relive or to remember. She sunk into the cushions of the sofa, the scent of Amanda on its pillows, and she sat, dreading the moment when she would have to leave its warmth.

* * *

Amanda spent her morning holed up in the Darby building with the Council, and after a few hours of bickering on the best way to repair the Stasis Net, she convinced them to pool their resources and fund the repair project through the town's own reserves. Now, alone in her office, she was left to figure out exactly how she would replenish those reserves over the next year, a feat that would take something just shy of a miracle.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that the buttered toast she'd had that morning had run its course hours ago. Relishing an opportunity to stretch her legs, Amanda made her way down to the town market, where most of the stall owners had set up again after the storm, eager to resume making whatever scrib they could. Opting for a familiar food cart, Amanda wound her way through the sparse crowd, giving the Human behind the cart an informal wave.

"Hey, Lonnie," she said, eyeing his buzzed hair and shiny earring, which gave him a menacing look that didn't match his warm demeanor. "I'll take a juice." He nodded, dumping several pieces of sunfruit into his small, juice-stained contraption, and Amanda's attention drifted once again to her hailer, typing in a quick message to Nolan.

"You realize you're leaving all the nutrients at the bottom of the strainer."

Amanda turned toward Doc's voice behind her, raising an amused eyebrow. "I haven't told you, Meh, I'm no longer a nutritarian. I don't eat them anymore." She smirked, ignoring Doc's eye roll as she took the juice with a polite nod.

"I'll have a salad," Doc said to the cart keeper, refraining from any jovial banter. She watched as he prepped her food, her arms crossed neatly over her chest, speaking to Amanda although not looking at her. "I got your message regarding the next meds shipment. That should be good timing."

"Good," Amanda replied. "Also, the Council approved a plan to repair the Net. We should be back up and running within a couple of weeks."

"You want dandi seeds?" Lonnie asked, his hand already sprinkling them onto the salad.

Doc stared at him. "Sure." She turned back to Amanda, her curiosity piqued. "How did you manage to convince them to go with the Earth Republic?"

Amanda shook her head. "I didn't. We're using reserves."

"You want sucar sprouts?"

Doc cut her head at Lonnie , frustrated by the interruptions. "I'm giving you seven scrib. Just put everything on it that I can get with seven scrib, got it?" She shook her head. "This is what happens when I forget my lunch. I'm forced to interact with Humans." She took the salad, grudgingly handing over a paper note.

"You mind if I walk back with you?" Amanda asked, pointing back in the direction of Yewll's office.

"It's a free Defiance," Doc muttered, walking briskly back the way she came. Amanda followed, matching her persistent pace and keeping the conversation light as they walked among the townspeople. At the steps of the med lodge, Doc turned to her with a calculating eye. "I'm guessing you want to discuss something of higher importance than storm systems," she said. "And I'm guessing you want to come inside."

Amanda tapped her temple. "You're so intuitive, Doc," she teased, following her inside and tossing her used juice cup into the trash. Doc settled at her desk, but made no move toward her salad. "By all means, feel free to eat," Amanda encouraged her, pointing toward the unopened container.

"I'd rather enjoy my lunch. What can I do for you?"

Amanda moved to the desk, propping herself onto it, slipping easily back into business mode. "Nolan recovered something from Luke's room. I've done some research on it, but I want your opinion." She tried to judge Doc's eyes, but they revealed nothing. "I'm pretty sure it's a relic of the Eighth Race, and I want to know why someone was after it."

"Do you also have unicorn fossils you'd like me to examine?" Doc rolled her eyes. "I think you have bigger things to worry about than tracing conspiracy theories. Whatever artifact you found, it's probably nothing more than a high-scrib piece from a scavenged ark."

Amanda stared harshly down at her, all pretense of her earlier demeanor abolished by a sense of urgency. "I know you think I'm not fit to shine Nicky's shoes," she said heatedly, her voice low. "But, I was as close to her as her own shadow for eight years, and I know enough about your past to know that you didn't stay in Defiance because you like the temperate climate. I don't give a flying shtak about what you did during the Wars, but I do know you have something to hide. And if you don't want me digging into your past, then I suggest you don't treat me like some two-bit scrib piece you can toss aside."

Doc sat quietly for a moment, unmoving. "Impressive," she muttered grudginly. "This artifact you've found, I'll need to see it."

Amanda nodded, glancing down at her hailer, where her message to Nolan still went unanswered. She knew where he spent many a lunch break, the same place many of the men in Defiance did, and a small, protective irritation nipped at her. She looked back at Doc. "The artifact is in an undisclosed location. I'll work on it. In the meantime, tell me about reverse terraforming. How does it work?"

Doc glanced at her with a surprised glint in her eye. "Now, that actually is a myth. I could make something up, but you'll find my imagination isn't exceptional."

Amanda shook her head, slightly confused. "All the research I've done has mentioned it."

"Of course it has. Let me guess: you're looking at old Earth Military Coalition literature? Why do you think their operation folded?" Doc didn't wait for an answer. "Because they couldn't find evidence for whatever dream they were trying to fulfill. Eighth Race tech has nothing to do with climate or reversing the dynamics of the landscape. Unfortunately, Humans are stuck with it."

"Then what does it do?"

Doc eyed her warily, the questions, and their answers, now becoming more complex. "No one is exactly certain what it does. All we know is that it's highly developed." She sighed. "The Eighth Race, the Zothrali, were experts at brain wave manipulation on their home planet. But, as far as we've been able to tell, none of that technology survived in the arkfalls." She paused, pulling her salad towards her, but her next question was weighted with suspicion. "Have you told anyone else about this artifact?"

"No," Amanda answered slowly, still trying to reconcile what she'd read with what Doc told her. Everything she read about Eighth Race tech had come from Earth military documents, which lead to the possibility that Votans knew something they hadn't disclosed. "Just Nolan."

Doc nodded. "That's for the best. You've already got one crazy looking for this thing." Amanda didn't answer her, already moving toward the door, her thoughts overpowering any sense of etiquette. It was one quality that Doc could appreciate in any specimen. "For the record," Doc called, prompting Amanda to look back at her. "I don't think you're fit to shine Nicky's shoes." She paused, wondering if she should let the insult lie, but she continued. "I think you're meant to fill them." She turned her head back to her lunch, as if pretending the compliment never left her lips.

The comment bolstered something inside Amanda as she left, her gait slightly lighter as she made her way down the street in the direction of the Lawkeeper's. If Nolan wouldn't answer her hails, then she would simply go to him; Nicky would have never played down her status in such a way, but Amanda had never practiced pretension very well. The Wars hadn't given her a chance to do anything but grovel and get by, whittling her character into one of altruistic strength. She cut back through the market and rounded a corner, but halted at the edge of a small flower stand, where Stahma stood, her tall figure bent over a row of arrangements.

Stahma didn't notice her, only glancing up as Amanda's shadow fell over the small display, but her lips curled into an immediate smile. "Lady Mayor, what are you doing walking among the Proletariat?" she teased, her shoulders relaxing from their normal rigid poise.

"I should ask you that," Amanda replied, glancing at the flowers that she held. "A woman of your liro does her own shopping?"

Stahma followed her gaze. "My garden was all but destroyed with the storm. I have nothing quite presentable for dinner tonight." She paused. "And, it's an excuse to get out of the house and clear my thoughts, if only for a short while." She glanced at the shopkeeper, handing him a scrib note and refusing the change he offered her with a demure shake of her head. She looked at Amanda. "Where are you heading?"

"Nolan's."

"Shall I walk with you for a minute?"

Amanda didn't refuse, but put her hands in her pockets in order to keep them from their natural tendency to stray towards Stahma's waist. "I'm going to let Nolan know to keep an eye on you," she said, her eyes straying to the colorful scarves hanging from a stand at her left. "I want to make sure you're safe."

"Does Nolan need to know that I'm involved in this?" Stahma asked, keeping her voice level and a smile on her face as they wound their way through the crowd. "What is your plan after I give you whatever information I learn tonight?"

"If this Birch guy seems anyway remotely behind the Volge attack, I'd like to turn it over informally to the E-Reps." She angled her head at Stahma. "They won't give two shtaks about Datak. He'll get out this no differently than he gets out of most of his criminal behavior."

"It's not only Datak I'm concerned about," Stahma corrected her, keeping her gaze on the path ahead of them. "I have Alak to think about."

"And what does Datak think about? While you're busy thinking about everyone else?"

Stahma smiled, nodding as they squeezed by a pair of children scurrying in the opposite direction. "He thinks about what every Castithan man thinks about: power. The only difference between us is that he is a bit reckless in how he goes about it. There are many roads to justice." She looked over at Amanda. "Remember that, after tonight."

Amanda breathed out a laugh. "Are you lecturing me about justice?"

"No, but I hope that you remind your Lawkeeper what it means." They were nearing Amanda's destination, and she wanted to drive her point home while she could, her distrust of Nolan almost as potent as her new distrust of her husband. "He doesn't know the history of this town or its people, and he doesn't respect it. He's just like Datak: too quick to pull a trigger."

"At least he's pulling the right triggers."

"I don't want to argue."

"You just want me to promise you that Datak will get away with his usual shtako. You have just as much of an appetite for power as he does."

"You weren't complaining about my appetite this morning."

The aside stopped Amanda in her tracks, and she let out a surprised laugh. "I wasn't in a position to complain." Her eyes flitted around the periphery, and she stealthily took Stahma's hand. "No matter what happens tonight, I will see you tomorrow."

Stahma nodded, removing her hand from Amanda's grasp and plucking a flower from the bouquet. She extended it to Amanda with a small smile. "It's a date," she whispered as she passed, continuing her walk alone. Although Amanda was certain Stahma wouldn't look back, she stood in the same spot, watching the tall, lonely figure continue on without her.

The Lawkeeper's office was quiet, its only cell empty, with only Tommy occupying the small space. His pen scratched over the paperwork he was completing and he glanced up at Amanda, who peered around the empty space impatiently, her hands on her hips. "Where's Nolan?"

"He stepped out for lunch about a half hour ago," Tommy replied, checking his watch. "He should be back any moment."

Amanda nodded, her earlier suspicions confirmed. "Men never have been able to multi-task," she said, recalling her own ability to check her hailer that morning. "Irisa isn't around today?"

Tommy shook his head. "She was, but she left about an hour ago... she isn't really one to share her schedule, though."

Amanda grinned. "True." She took a seat at Nolan's desk, placing her boots on his desk. "If you don't mind, I'll wait."

Tommy shook his head again, knowing the futility of disagreeing with Amanda was almost as fraught as disagreeing with Irisa, even if the Mayor managed to intimidate without the use of knives or other weaponry. He couldn't say the same for Irisa. He turned his attention back to his paperwork, the sound of his pen complementing the sound of Amanda's nails tapping patiently against Nolan's desk.

After a few minutes, Amanda spoke. "Nolan is nothing like Clancy, is he?"

Tommy looked at her, waiting a moment before answering. "No, not at all." He shrugged. "Makes it easier, though."

"Losing him?"

Tommy nodded. "Yeah."

Amanda echoed his agreement. "Yeah," she repeated quietly. "Even still, we all miss him. Just know that."

Before Tommy could offer a response, the door swung open, and Nolan walked into the room with a satisfied smile. Amanda swung her boots back to the floor and was on him immediately. "Where the hell have you been?" she asked, but her eyes focused on Kenya, who walked in just behind Nolan, wearing the same mask of contentment.

"I was at lunch." He shrugged, grinning. "A man's gotta eat."

Amanda held up a hand, her mouth forming into a disgusted grimace. "Okay, you know what, spare me the details, okay?" Her sour look dissipated as Kenya held out a to-go box to her, the smell of chicken skewers wafting from it. Amanda took it grudgingly, although she still held some suspicion that the two of them passed most of their time back in her sister's room. "Listen," she said to Nolan. "I need to talk to you."

"Really? From the way you bounded out of that chair, it looked like you needed to yell at me."

Kenya laughed, pulling Nolan down to her and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "As long as it's you and not me." She leaned forward, tugging Amanda's braid. "Make sure she eats that lunch," she said, giving Tommy a quick wave as she left, eager to leave the two of them to their own matters.

"I talked to Doc today," Amanda began, but no sooner had she started than the doors burst open once again, and this time Rafe appeared, dragging Irisa by the arm behind him. He was incensed, as much as his face could manifest anger, and he shook his finger at Irisa, his rage now angled toward Nolan. "You want to tell me what kind of sleaze operation you're running here, Nolan?"

Nolan took a step towards him, clearly confused, and slightly suspicious, knowing full well what his daughter was capable of. "What's going on?"

"I found your ward fishing around on my property," he spat, his angry eyes turning to Amanda. "What the hell kind of town are you running lately?"

"What?" Nolan pressed, taking a step between Rafe and Amanda. He directed his attention to Irisa. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was just looking for more evidence," Irisa explained, directing her large eyes pointedly at Rafe, her tone less than apologetic. "I was trying to help."

Rafe grimaced, his teeth grinding. "Do me a favor and help yourself back to the Badlands," he spat. "And stay the hell off my property, all of you. As far as I'm concerned, your investigation into Luke's death is officially over." He glanced at Amanda. "If you can't keep your lawkeeper in line, maybe we need to elect someone who can."

Amanda watched him leave, speechless, but as the door slammed her gaze turned to Irisa, ready to press her for some answers. Nolan, however, preempted her, his anger just as palpable as Rafe's. "You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?"

"If Luke really did know what he had, which is why he kept it, he would have something else about that artifact lying around. Otherwise he would have sold it or pawned it off a long time ago."

"And what exactly did you think you would find?"

Irisa pulled a small, crumpled flyer out of her pocket. "This."

Nolan snatched it from her, turning it over in his hand, and Amanda moved next to him, looking over his shoulder. It was a crude map, nothing fancy, etched out on the back of a music flyer, but there was no mistaking that it was a map of the back portion of the mines, the area that connected to the Old City and the nuclear plant. "Where did you find this?" Nolan asked, perplexed. "I cleaned out Luke's room."

"I didn't find it in Luke's room. I found it in Quentin's."

Nolan didn't look up from the map, but instead spoke slowly, his words a clear command to both Irisa and Tommy. "Why don't the two of you go pick up Quentin?" he suggested, lowering the map, slowly ingesting the new information. "I'd like to have a few words with him."

Irisa nodded, staring at Tommy until he moved from his desk, placing his black cap on his head. He moved around her, glancing back at her as they moved towards the door. Amanda moved forward, taking the map from Nolan's hands and studying it. "We're going to need to follow this," she said.

"Rafe doesn't seem like he's going to escort us anywhere near the mines."

Amanda sighed. "Give him a couple of days to cool down. I'll talk to him." She fidgeted with the corners of the map, thinking hard about how to approach Nolan with her next request. "I may have an alias for the person out for the artifact."

"How'd you get that?" Nolan asked.

Amanda didn't meet his eye, squinting past him. "The name is Birch. He approached Datak with some bonkers plan about harnessing a new energy source using the nuclear plant. Whoever this Birch guy is, he could be using Datak to get inside the nuclear plant."

"Where is all this coming from?" Nolan pressed. "Last I heard you and Datak weren't on the best of terms."

"I didn't get it from Datak. Not directly."

Nolan stepped in front of her, inching lower to look her in the eye. "You going to level with me or what? What's with this cryptic sharing? Where'd you get this from?"

Amanda looked up at him, daring him to question her judgment. She did enough of that on her own, and had little time for it coming from others. "Stahma Tarr."

Nolan's eyebrows raised, his lower lip dropping in disbelief. "Are you fist-chupping me? Since when is Stahma Tarr a source against her own husband?"

"She's trying to protect Datak, not hurt him." The words still stung, a reminder that Stahma was intent on keeping the life she knew, even if it meant staying with a husband that she didn't truly love.

"You're telling me you'd believe a word coming out of her mouth?"

"I saw the documents with my own eyes, Nolan. She's telling the truth." Amanda raised a hand, silencing Nolan's next argument. She had been through them all on her own. "I can trust her. But, I want you or Tommy or Irisa to keep an eye out for her. She's risking a lot to help us. The least we can do is protect her."

Nolan shook his head. "I don't get where this trust is coming from all of a sudden... is this a woman thing or something?" he asked, still confused.

"Something like that," Amanda murmured. "Look, just trust me on this, okay?"

Nolan sat down at his desk. "You're making a mistake here, Amanda. What kind of shtaking blinders are you wearing, that you'd actively engage with Stahma Tarr?"

Amanda didn't answer him, instead perching on his desk, her back to him. "Right now, she's all I've got, Nolan, okay? I'm taking all leads handed to me." She turned to look at him. "She's recording a dinner tonight, between Datak and Birch. If I get something useful, I'm handing it over to the Earth Republic."

"This is going down tonight? Why don't I save Stahma the trouble and just pay Datak and his new friend a little visit?"

"Because I'm not looking for some Westside Story rumble, Nolan, I'm looking for evidence that can help me make sure that whoever this is doesn't come back. Let the Earth Republic take care of them. I feed them a criminal, they'll get off our backs for awhile. Trust me, they'll do far worse damage than we ever could." She paused. "But the artifact stays hidden. They don't need to know we have it."

"Why, do you want to melt it down and use it as a necklace?"

"No, but that would probably be better than having the Earth Republic get its hands on it. Or Datak, or the Votanis Collective, or this Birch guy." Nolan eyed her, and she met his gaze head on. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just - " he paused, shaking his head with a laugh. "Beautiful women usually blind me to the truth, too. You sure that's not what's happening here?"

Amanda held up a hand. "Let me stop you right here, Nolan. My ability to do my job has never been, and will never be, affected by anything other than my own conscience, you got that?"

He nodded, but still grinned up at her. "Got it, Chief." He stood. "I'll have Tommy and Irisa keep an eye on your new crush for you."

Amanda rolled her eyes, staving off the current of paranoia running just underneath her skin. "You're a shtakhole, you know that?"

Nolan shrugged. "A shtakhole with a job, that's all that matters." His grin faded. "If all this is going down tonight, you're not leaving my sights. Tommy and Irisa will keep an active perimeter around Tarrs, but I'm keeping an eye out on you. You may be getting a little too deep, Amanda."

Amanda laughed at the irony, but it was a sardonic laughter, bred from trepidation. "You may be right, Nolan. You may be right." She glanced at the lunch Kenya brought for her, but her appetite was long gone. She slid it towards Nolan. "Why don't you take that," she offered, walking towards the door. "Something tells me you didn't get a chance to get lunch during your lunch break." She stood outside the door for a minute, eyeing the afternoon sun, which would now fall along its invisible arch towards dusk. As she headed back to the Darby building and her office, she saw no need to wait for sundown to pop open her bottle of scotch.

* * *

Stahma leaned over the dining room table, arranging the last of the flowers she bought in a small vase in the center of it. "Thank you so much, Ashma, for helping prepare all of this," she said as Ashma finished plating the table, the dishes as gleaming as their surroundings. "It was rather short notice, but it's for an important client."

"Of course, Mrs. Tarr." Ashma eyed the flowers, standing next to her. "Those look lovely. If you don't mind, I'll retire to the kitchen until your guests arrive."

"I'll come with you," Stahma offered, in the need for comfortable company, if only to keep her nerves from fraying too much before Datak arrived. Her coolness never failed her, but it took effort, a sense of control that sometimes exhausted her, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down at the informal kitchen table with her hired help. As Ashma stared back at her, uncertain, she felt suddenly foolish. "Never mind," she said with a wave of her hand, glossing over her misstep.

The front door opened, the sound of it less comforting than in years past, and Stahma's hand immediately flitted to the thin chain around her neck, an action she had repeated throughout the day, its weight a reminder of her task. Her heart beat a bit faster at the sound of Datak's voice calling from the front hallway, and she moved quickly, greeting him. "Hello, darling," she said with a warm smile as she extended her arms toward him. She gave him the requisite kiss on both cheeks, while expertly keeping his hands from roving around toward her back, hoping he didn't notice her evasion. "How was your trip home?"

"Perfect, productive," he said with a grin, turning to the door. "Thanks to these two, of course."

Stahma smiled as a tall, thin man walked through the door, his eyes covered by a pair of perfectly round, blue spectacles. Coupled with his dark, curly hair, she pegged him more as a Human accountant than as the favored investor she had heard so much about. She extended her hand to him, and he kissed it warmly. "Mrs. Tarr, I'm Jon Birch. It's a pleasure. I've heard so much about you."

Another voice, immediately recognizable, echoed from behind him, and the sound of it was like a trickle of ice water running down Stahma's spine. "And, of course, I need no introduction." Nicky Riordan smiled up at her as Birch moved away, her blue eyes sparkling in the white light of the foyer. "It's wonderful to see you again, Stahma."

Stahma's lips parted in shock, but she quickly recovered, offering the Mayor a kiss on her cheek, her skin cool to the touch. "Mayor Riordan. It's a pleasure to see you, and so soon." She glanced at Datak, pulling at her dress, covering the small, silver charm at her chest. "I had no idea you were the one behind this new deal."

"Oh no," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm just the financier. Mr. Birch here is the brains behind the operation, isn't that right, Birch?"

"Yes," Datak agreed, putting an arm around Stahma's waist, pulling her closer to him. "Mr. Birch has amassed quite an inventory in Manhattan. Not an easy feat without the help of the Earth Republic." He glanced at Stahma, pulling her gaze away from its perch on Nicky. "Do you mind if we talk a little business before we sit down to dinner? It may help us work up an appetite."

"Of course not," Stahma replied, keeping her voice level. "Although I trust I can join you." She glanced conspiratorially at Nicky. "This gathering won't be sectioned off by male and female, will it?"

"Of course not," Nicky replied, waving her hand. "Come on."

Stahma breathed a sigh of relief as she followed them into Datak's study, but her momentary reprieve didn't last long. Her nerves felt as if they were on fire, alertness stiffening her back. She exhaled, reminding herself that nerves were the only thing going against her at the moment, seeing as how there was no reason for anyone in the room to suspicion her of anything other than organizing a peaceful, productive meal for them. She smiled at Nicky, sitting beside her on a large white chaise while Datak busied himself with pouring them all a glass of sparkling blue wine.

The recorder peeked out of Stahma's dress once again, and conscious of Nicky sitting beside her, she worked to hide it once more before accepting her beverage from Datak with a grateful smile. "Mr. Birch, what did you do before you became a consultant?" she asked. "As a Human, were you enlisted?"

Birch eyed her carefully over the rim of his glass. "I was, for a time. One hundred and first division."

"Wonderful. I must confess, I'm not an expert at the largess of numbers the Coalition gathered over its time during the war." It was a lie, but she swallowed it with a sip of her wine. She knew that number: it was an intelligence division. "Nevertheless, I'm sure you learned quite a bit during your service."

"I learned enough to get me through the Wars," he answered, falling back into his comfortable repose of silence. Stahma could tell that he wasn't used to such recourse with women other than Mayor Riordan, who had more than earned her power through her own endeavors in the Earth Military Coalition.

"That's where you learned the advances to be made using Votan technology, correct?" Datak asked, perching beside Birch and taking a relaxed sip of his wine. His demeanor, easy enough as it was, told Stahma that this deal had been sealed without her; she was merely meant as a decorative piece, something else for Datak to show off to the colleagues he wanted to impress. Still, that didn't stop her from exercising the same careful prying that she had in the first years of their marriage, balancing her husband's ambition with a streak of hubris and calculation.

"Then I'm sure you're familiar with some of the more adverse affects our technology has on Humans?" she asked, pressing Birch further.

"My, Datak, your wife does ask a lot of questions." Birch eyed Datak, not Stahma, and she felt the slightest irritation at his blatant disregard for her.

"Like any woman worth her salt," Nicky cut in, giving Stahma a smile and raising her glass. "Very good questions, actually. In fact, I think some of them deserve a better answer, don't you, Birch?" She clasped her hands together in front of her, waiting until all eyes were on her. Stahma stared curiously at her. "Datak, if we're to be completely honest with you, which we do want to be, of course, then we should fill you in on one small thing about our proposal."

"What's that?" Datak sat straighter.

"This technology, this energy, as we said before, may release a few... how shall we put it? Unhealthy waves. Nothing that the earth hasn't seen before, and weathered, but these would come in lethal doses, at least in the beginning."

Stahma felt her breath catch in her throat, but she kept still, if only to keep the hailer from catching any static. Datak peered over his glass. "Are you telling me that the town of Defiance would need to fall in order to harness this new technology? And if we survived, wouldn't we be blamed for the catastrophe?" Datak asked. "That hardly seems good for business."

"Not if we do things in the proper order." Nicky looked at her companion. "Birch? Would you like to take the technical parts?"

"We've got scrappers down at the plant," he said, setting his wine glass in front of him. "If we set them off, the rear of the plant explodes, exuding enough toxic chemicals to affect every Human within fifty miles of the blast. Any deleterious effects could be averted with an evacuation, but of course, this would call attention to our efforts. And, seeing as how Nicky and I won't be able to stick around, we'll need you, Datak, to control the explosion. Until the chemicals are controlled, you would be our main contact running the operation."

Stahma, mindful of the device around her neck, and the way it could be used to incriminate her husband, reached up to the necklace and covered it with her hand, muffling Datak's response. A slight tinge of guilt flashed through her, but she thought of Alak, and of the life he would live as a Castithan man with a shamed father. Whatever the recorder caught of Nicky and Birch, she was certain that would be enough to incriminate them; she could handle her husband on her own.

"I see no reason why this should change my decision," Datak answered, raising his glass once more. "In fact, this may even prompt me to throw my hat in for Mayor of Defiance." He glanced at Stahma, all but giving her a wink, which she returned with a forced smile.

"One more thing," Nicky said, raising a finger. "This energy source, as we said, requires a key. We have reason it is here in Defiance, and we need to move quickly to find it."

Datak nodded. "This key, as you call it, fits one of the capsules you've already scavenged?"

Nicky shared a small glance with Birch, but nodded. "Yes." She leaned into Datak. "Others have sought this key before. It may be one of the reasons that lead to Luke's death."

Stahma peered at Datak, but her husband nodded astutely, still believing the lies he was being fed. "Well, I will certainly do my best to see what I can find our about the investigation into Luke's death. You have my word." He smiled over at Stahma. "Shall we eat, my dear? Power always increases my appetite."

Stahma acquiesced, smiling as she stood, allowing the men to leave for the dining room first. As Nicky passed her, she walked beside her, attempting casual conversation, but her pulse quickened in heated, protective anger. "Does Amanda know you're in town?" She studied Nicky's eyes, searching for some flicker of remorse, but all she saw was a calculating, piercing blue.

"There's no need for me to burden her every time I come to town," Nicky replied with a wave of her hand. "Amanda's a big girl, she can handle the job on her own. And she can do it a million times better than I ever did." There was finally a flicker of something behind her gaze, a fondness that Nicky quickly stifled with an impatient sigh. "If I could take anyone with me, it would be her. But, she would fight to the death to save this town. Poor girl." Nicky walked ahead, and Stahma fell back, her fingers once again touching the silver chain around her neck, knowing that what she had to share would not only crush Amanda, it may very well be the thing that would completely undo her.

* * *

Amanda stared at the pieces on the chess board, but they were a mere blur, and she leaned back, picking up her glass of Scotch. "This was a bad idea," she said to Nolan, who sat across from her, his hand on his head, struggling with the sudden downturn the game had taken for his King. "I can't concentrate."

"Well, you're kicking my ass," he commented, gesturing to the neat line of his pawns that sat behind Amanda's end of the chess board. "I'd hate to play you when you're at the top of your game." He leaned back in his chair, a mirror image of her, studying the slow, steady way that she sipped her drink. "How old is this scotch?" he asked, raising his own glass.

"Aged. I only drink the good stuff."

"Did Mayor Nicky drink as much as you do?"

"Where do you think I picked up the habit?" Amanda laughed, but shook her head. "I've always drank. But, it was Nicky that turned me onto scotch. She said if I drank enough of it, I'd grow a pair of balls." She looked at the amber liquid in her glass. "No one had balls as big as her, though."

Nolan laughed into his drink. "From what I've heard, that sounds about right."

Amanda sat up to top of her glass. "You don't need to be here, you know," she said, reaching over to refill Nolan's as well before recapping the bottle. "Shouldn't you be with Kenya, anyway?"

Nolan raised an eyebrow, aware of the protective tone Amanda took on whenever she spoke about her sister. It was those moments that made him wonder just how big Amanda's balls were. "She's working," he replied with a shrug.

Amanda studied him, wondering how he kept such a cavalier attitude about such things, and for a moment, she envied him. "It doesn't bother you, what she does?"

"A girl's gotta make a living."

Amanda shook her head, refusing the answer. "No, Kenya is a smart woman. She could do any number of things with her life besides open her legs for strangers. She may have had to resort that before, but... times are different now."

Nolan leaned over, moving another piece on the chess board, even though, as far as he was concerned, Amanda was the only one screwing him that night. The game was surely lost for him. "I don't judge her. She's running a business, keeping people happy, and occasionally accepting some scrib here and there." He eyed her. "Isn't that basically what you do as Mayor?" She glowered at him, but he merely laughed, enjoying the game of toying with her temper. "Have you ever gone to the NeedWant? For a girl?"

"That's none of your business."

He leaned forward, suddenly interested by the way she put him off. "Holy shtako, have you gotten a girl from the NeedWant? One of your sister's own girls?" He laughed, tipping his head back joyously. The scotch had gone to his head, just a little, but it felt good to laugh, even if it was with a woman who, for the most part, had little in common with him. "I mean, it must be hard to find women in such a small town. I'm not blaming you." He grinned, but the grin faded when he caught the brief sadness that floated across Amanda's face. She masked it quickly, turning her attention back to the game.

"Lesbians don't really flock to a frontier town like Defiance," she muttered.

"I guess that rules out group marriage," Nolan said, hoping to make her smile again. "You couldn't find enough eligible women to make a group." This time his ploy worked, and Amanda cracked a smile, but kept her head down, moving a bishop into another square.

"You're funny, Nolan," she said, spying him over the rim of her glass. "That's why I keep you around. You're like my court jester." Nolan looked as if he wanted to make another retort, but Amanda's hailer buzzed on her desk, and she hurled out of her chair, glancing at the screen. "Stahma?" she asked, pressing the phone against her ear.

Nolan set his glass down on the table beside him, rising from his chair.

"What? We agreed on tomorrow."

Nolan stepped closer and leaned in, trying to get an earful of what was being said on the other end of the line, but Amanda shrugged him off, stepping behind her desk. "Okay, I'm at my office. Come around back and I'll meet you." She hung up, looking at Nolan. "She's coming tonight."

He raised his eyebrows, his suspicion from earlier only rekindled by the abrupt change of plans. "Something's up," he said, checking his holster for his gun. "How the hell is she meeting us tonight? Where's Datak?"

Amanda focused on his question, attempting to siphon off the worry flooding through her. "He's at the NeedWant. Showing the new client a good time. She's got a couple of hours."

Nolan shook his head, the answer not good enough for him. "I'm calling Tommy, sending him to scout the NeedWant. Irisa can track Stahma. I don't want some sort of ambush tonight, and I'm guessing you don't, either."

Amanda didn't respond, slumping into her desk chair as Nolan pulled out his own hailer, giving Tommy new directives. She sat quietly, waiting, the minutes ticking by slowly enough to allow her to talk herself out of any panicked-fueled worry. Stahma was smart and strategic; if she wanted to make the exchange tonight, that only meant tomorrow wasn't an option. Nolan walked to her desk, handing her the rest of her scotch. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said. "You want to drink this, maybe get the color back in your cheeks?"

Amanda shook her head, pushing the glass away. "I'm going downstairs to wait for her." She stood, walking towards the door on uncertain footing, but she was keenly aware of Nolan following her. She turned, putting a hand to his chest. "How about you meet us in the conference room?" Nolan didn't nod, but she turned and made her way down the stairwell; less than half a flight down, she heard Nolan's heavy footsteps, and she shook her head. "Jesus, Nolan, do you ever listen to directions?"

"Not when they're wrong." He caught up with her, both of them avoiding the main lobby, where the one and only security camera sat wedged in a high corner of the ceiling. The back doors to the Darby building were through a small corridor that contained an old vending machine that was kept around mainly as a relic, as no one had gotten anything out of it in years. They waited silently, their backs pressed against the wall, Amanda intermittently looking out of the small slice of window in the door, searching for headlights. As soon as a bright beam hit, Nolan pulled his gun from his holster, taking a step ahead of Amanda.

"Nolan, put the chupping gun away," Amanda hissed, but he insisted on opening the door, greeting Stahma with his raised gun.

"Evening, Mrs. Tarr," he said with a cheeky grin.

Stahma balked at the sight of the weapon, reeling from the two of them, her cloak's hood pulled discreetly over her hair. "I'm sorry for deviating from the plan," she offered, only stepping inside the building once Nolan lowered his gun back to his side, his eyes scanning the periphery of the building. "There's no one following me," she assured him. "I made sure of it."

"Is everything okay?" Amanda asked, stepping towards her, scanning her face..

Stahma nodded, holding out the silver necklace in her palm, but didn't offer a direct answer. Amanda took the charm from her, placing a hand on the small of Stahma's back and guiding her gently up the stairs. It was only Nolan's footsteps plodding up behind them that made her aware of her actions, and she quickly moved her hand back to her side. "Let's take a seat in the conference room," she said, glancing at Nolan and handing over the necklace. "There's an external speaker there, do you mind setting it up?"

Nolan nodded, moving past them, finally sliding his weapon back into the holster at his leg. Stahma looked at Amanda, her eyes as urgent as her tone, even in the thin, paltry light. She hadn't expected Nolan's presence, especially when she was about to share such devastating news. "Amanda, we need to meet alone."

"Stahma, Nolan can be trusted. We're not after Datak, okay?" Amanda looked back at the conference room before taking a step closer to Stahma. "Whatever you managed to record, we'll only hand over what we need on Birch."

"This has nothing to do with Datak - "

"Speakers are set up," Nolan called, popping his head out of the door. Stahma moved reluctantly forward, taking a seat at the large table, the room overly formal for their secretive operation. Nolan plugged the small device into his own hailer, connecting that to a small, but still higher quality, speaker. He began the playback, which at first was nothing but static, and Stahma recalled the way her dress had shifted, muffling its receptor. After a few seconds, voices drifted through the speaker, filling the silence. Stahma watched Amanda carefully, knowing all too well the voice that would soon float over them, and she fought the urge to reach out a hand and disconnect the gadget, saving Amanda from the sting of impenitent betrayal. Nicky's voice echoed from the speaker, confident and buoyant.

Amanda leaned into the device, her lower lip dropping in confusion, as if hearing a familiar voice that she couldn't quite place. When the betrayal finally registered, her breath left her, the room tunneling around the small hailer, the speaker, the sound of her mentor's voice coming from it. Her hands trembled, and she clenched her fists, focusing only on the task of keeping her shock as bottled as she could.

"Is that Riordan?" Nolan asked, disbelief hitching his tone higher as he leaned into the speaker. "What the chup?"

The sound of Nicky's voice was like a bludgeon to Amanda's midsection, and her pulse quickened of its own accord as she listened. She felt Stahma and Nolan peering over at her, each of them trying to decipher her silence, but Amanda kept her mouth pinched in a tight, fine line, trying to focus on the words coming from the small speaker. A pounding, fueled by betrayal, kept her from understanding most of what was being said, and when Nolan finally flicked off the hailer, she looked numbly up at him.

"I think we have what we need," he said, studying her warily, as if afraid to speak too loudly or make any sudden movements. "I'll go over it again tomorrow at the precinct, and we can hand it over to the E-Reps." He looked at Amanda again, trying to decode the bubbling look behind her eyes. "If you want, I can take them in tonight, and hand 'em over personally."

Amanda shook her head, finally finding her vocabulary again. "We'll let them head back into Manhattan and tip of the E-Reps there. I don't want them stepping foot back here in Defiance, it can only lead to trouble. Especially with the artifact here."

"You have the artifact here?" Stahma asked, looking between the two of them, surprised. Nolan didn't answer her, but his silence only confirmed the truth, and it only added to her worries. "They want the artifact," she reminded them.

"Well, this all explains why Ben was the one that ended up killing Luke. He was just following his boss' orders." He looked at Amanda again, who had remained quiet. "You sure you don't want me to bring her in? You could interrogate her yourself - I won't stop you. You can even use all the methods that the E-Reps banned after the Wars."

"What good would that do?" Amanda hissed, rising from her chair. "If you'll excuse me," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, dripping not with remorse, but with a venomous anger. "I need just a moment." Amanda avoided eye contact with both of them, making her way to her own office, her chest swelling with a combination of anger, hurt, and frustration.

Nolan stared over the table at Stahma, still unsure what her true role was in everything that had unfolded. "You really dug your own grave tonight," he said, not caring whether his remarks came off as cruel. "You betray Datak, and he finds out, he's certain to torture you." He paused. "You betray me, or Amanda, then I'll torture you." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "That sound about right?"

Stahma met his gaze, but said nothing, rising from her chair. He stood as well, matching her glare. "I'll walk you downstairs," he offered, although there was nothing kind in his words. "You should probably get home. Datak is a quick draw. He'll more than likely be done at the NeedWant sooner than you think."

Stahma moved into the hallway, more concerned about Amanda than with Nolan's vicious pride. Betrayal came and went in the political world, but she knew Nicky was much more than a mentor to Amanda. She stopped at Lana's desk, waiting for Nolan to turn and look at her. "Do you ever listen to your intuition, Lawkeeper Nolan?" she asked, studying him.

"All the time."

She took a step closer, staring up at him with harsh, protective eyes. "Your intuition is shtako," she seethed. "If you think I would do anything to harm Amanda or anyone dear to her, you are severely mistaken." She leaned back, regaining her composure, and offered him a steady, even smile.

Nolan looked at her carefully, his lips in a thin, calculating line. "What the hell is going on between the two of you?" he asked, suspicion clearing his insight, and for the first time he grasped onto something that he should have seen earlier. He took the few steps to Amanda's door, knocking, but the sound was drowned out by a crash in the office. He opened the door, and ducked back from the entryway as a small paperweight flew across the room, smashing into the bookcase. He looked back at Stahma. "Be my guest," he said, inching away from the door.

Stahma brushed past him, shutting the door behind her. Amanda stood in front of the credenza, her shoulders quaking, her fists clenched. "I just need a minute," she repeated, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I'll be fine."

Stahma eyed the broken paperweight on the floor. "I see you're exerting some anger, but perhaps it's wiser if you throw the couch cushions instead," she suggested.

Amanda rammed a closed fist into the wall, making Stahma jump slightly, and the force of the blow sent a framed poster sliding to the floor. Amanda ignored it, liking the feel of destruction, her only outlet for a new, deep pain. She followed Stahma's advice, picking up a pillow from the couch and throwing it across the room, but it didn't give her nearly as much pleasure as the heavier things, and she pressed a hand against her temple. "If I had any doubts as to why she chose me for this job, now I know," she stammered, her voice wavering with anger as she paced back and forth. "I was the sucker."

"That's not true," Stahma said, wondering if perhaps she should have given Amanda another few minutes to exert her rage. She knew, deep down, that anger was only a front for incredible sadness.

"For eight years, I worked like a chupping dog for her." Amanda kicked at her desk, but the violent efforts no longer held any pleasure for her. Exhausted by her anger, she slumped to the floor in front of her desk, putting both hands at the sides of her head, which were radiating with a thick, pulsing pain. "I can't believe I was so stupid."

"Humans have never learned to channel their anger," Stahma observed as she peered at the wake of Amanda's wrath. She stood just over Amanda, waiting expectantly. Anger was something she knew how to help channel; after years with Datak, she had gotten adept at turning it into something useful. "This anger that you feel, darling, you can turn right against her."

Amanda looked up, but her eyes were red, her face morphed with anguish. It was a look born not out of anger, but of abandonment. Now, Amanda's voice was quieter. "She took me in, she was kind... she told me things that I hadn't heard since my mother - ." She hiccuped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Fuck," she whispered, hanging her head.

Stahma sunk to her knees, putting an arm around her. "She has betrayed you, because of blind, unthinking ambition. She betrayed us all, Amanda. But you are no one's fool. Don't let her make you feel that you are." After a few minutes, Amanda's head came to rest on Stahma's shoulders, exhausted by the dam of outrage that broke through her, flooding her with an unrestrained heat. Stahma ran her fingers through her hair, the weight of much more than Amanda's head on her shoulder now. "Let me take you home," she whispered.

"No, I'm fine," Amanda insisted, wiping her fingers underneath her eyes as she unwound herself from Stahma's arm and slowly got to her feet. She sniffed, straightening her shoulders and attempting to pull herself together, swallowing the marble of hurt at the back of her throat.

"Nonsense," Stahma refuted, rising to meet her. Rarely had she seen Amanda so exposed, her grief like an open wound. Whether it was prudent or not, she simply wanted to help her. "Tonight we grieve, and tomorrow we get angry. I want to help you through this."

Amanda shook her head. "No, you need to go home," she reminded Stahma. "Datak will wonder where you are."

Stahma couldn't necessarily argue with her, but she dreaded the thought of leaving, imagining Amanda home, in her warm home, but alone, left with haunting questions and regrets. "Go home and take a bath," she suggested softly, walking over to her, feeling suddenly protective. She ran her hands comfortingly up Amanda's arms, cupping her jaw delicately. "I'll do the same." She bent down, pecking Amanda's cheek before moving to her lips, the kiss chaste, but meaningful. "They are the fools, Amanda. Not you."

Amanda leaned her forehead into Stahma's, taking reprieve in the small space of comfort between them, one bred not of betrayal, or suspicion, but of simple, authentic love. "They made one mistake." She raised her head, glancing at Stahma before moving her eyes to the window, the town's light's flickering in the dark blanket of night. "They didn't count on me having so much to fight for."

"I could say the same." Stahma smiled, and pressed her lips against Amanda's once more, this time stretching the kiss out, not knowing when would be the next time she would get such an opportunity. "Think of me when you get home," she said, kissing Amanda's temple.

Amanda squeezed her hand, swallowing, but managing a smile. "I'll walk you downstairs."

Stahma shook her head. "No, your Lawkeeper will do that. I may have already piqued his suspicions, so no need to raise them any further." Leaving would be hard, but she had no other choice, and the only way she could command her legs to move to the door was to remember that any suspicion she rankled in her husband would be the death of not only her, but also Amanda. She looked back once more, giving Amanda another sad smile before opening the door, letting reality puncture their solitude once more.

Amanda watched her leave, the sinking feeling in her stomach only assuaged by the feel of Stahma's lips still on hers. She stood silently, unaware that behind her, from a small camera dropped in the hourglass on the credenza, someone else was watching her.

* * *

**Long chapter, but if you're not too fatigued, tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten **

Early morning in the Hollows was eerily quiet. Closer to town, storekeepers' rattled open chain-link locks, mothers rushed to get less than eager children to school, and servants scurried to their morning errands. The Hollows still felt sleepy, as if most of its inhabitants were still nestled inside the makeshift tents and trailers, sleeping off whatever vice they had partaken in the night before, not yet ready to creep back into their normal lives. Amanda made her way down the wide, deserted street toward the NeedWant, where bikes and rollers were still parked outside, waiting to be reclaimed by their owners. The morning sun hit only the tops of the high, cement walls as Amanda made her way to the side of the building and let herself into the marked door that led up to Kenya's private studio. The key Kenya gave her was rarely used; although Amanda was no stranger to the NeedWant, she rarely ventured to her sister's quarters. She climbed the narrow stairs to the top landing, and hovered outside Kenya's door, having learned from many awkward interruptions that she should knock before entering.

Kenya swung open the door a few moments after Amanda's persistent knock, glinting at her through half-shut eyes that were still caked with mascara, and turned away without a word, the hem of her black robe floating behind her. "Amanda, you know we don't keep the same hours. What are you doing here this early?"

Amanda followed her inside, the dragon on the back of Kenya's robe staring back at her, red fire coming from its mouth. "It's not that early."

"Well, I know you didn't come here to have breakfast." Kenya pushed a strand of thick, black hair behind her ear. "The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can get back to sleep."

Fortunately for Kenya, Amanda was in no mood to waste time, either, and she launched into the real reason she had come. "Last night, Datak was here, wasn't he?"

Kenya rolled her eyes, giving an irritated chuckle as she tossed her head, padding into the kitchen on her bare feet. Whatever Amanda was trying to get at would require caffeine. "Are you keeping track of Datak's night life now? Isn't that his wife's job?"

The retort bothered her, but it shouldn't have, and Amanda masked her annoyance with impatience, following Kenya into the narrow, galley kitchen. "I'm serious. Did he bring another guest with him last night?"

Kenya filled a small kettle with water, giving a prurient glance over her shoulder. Amanda was fishing for something serious, but that didn't make Kenya any more willing to give up private information. "I have an understanding with clients, Amanda, you know that. I don't give away identities, or who they bring, or what they discuss. If you haven't noticed, confidentiality is important at a sex club."

After her night, Amanda was in no mood to exercise patience, and she sighed, tossing her head with a parental air. "Oh come on, Kenya, don't be ridiculous. This is a matter of town security."

"Don't go all high and mighty on me." Kenya eyed her accusingly as she crossed to the refrigerator. "You know my rules." She pulled out a loaf of bread, tossing one slice into the antique toaster on the counter. "You want?"

Amanda shook her head, placing her palms on the edge of the narrow counter, it's surface cool against her skin. "Look, Kenya, I'm not here as your sister, I'm here as the goddamn Mayor who is trying to prevent another attack. I need you to cooperate with me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Amanda pressed, recognizing the whine in her tone that only a younger sister could bring out, a pitch somewhere lower than anger, but higher than mere irritation. She cleared her throat, trying again. "I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't need to know."

Kenya huffed her way to the stove. "I can't. Datak expressly requested that I keep quiet about his visitor."

Amanda followed her, edging around the counter, the new information egging the constant, low-bubbling anger that she felt towards Datak. It was as if he was coming from all sides, throwing everyone she loved into a bad position, and she hated him for it. "What do you mean? What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Bee." Kenya's back was turned, as if she was intentionally avoiding eye contact, and Amanda recognized that particular pattern from their first years in Defiance, when her sister fell into the always bullying, sometimes abusive arms of Hunter Bell. It had taken years to finally get him out of their lives, and although Kenya didn't see it the same way, Amanda considered his sudden disappearance a stroke of good fortune. Amanda's eyes flitted across Kenya's body, searching for the telltale signs of abuse, and she locked onto a faint, but pertinent discoloring along Kenya's wrist.

"Kenya - " Amanda grabbed her arm, gently, turning her around to face her, trying to read her face, but her sister also an expert at hiding her emotions with a thin veneer of cool, a trait that ran through the Rosewater clan. "Did Datak do this?"

Kenya jerked from her grasp, rolling her eyes. "Jesus, Amanda, you need to relax. I couldn't find my padded handcuffs." She caught the judgmental, but curious look in Amanda's eye, and changed the subject. "Look, Datak and I have an understanding, and as a client, he retains certain privileges. And so do his guests."

"Was his name Birch?" Amanda asked, not giving up. "Do you know that this same Birch is behind the Volge attack? That he was involved in Luke's murder?" She let her remarks sink in before continuing. "All I'm asking is that you tell me if he mentioned any specifics about when he was leaving town, that's all."

"He sent the Volge?" Kenya asked, confused, her eyes darting across the floor. "He didn't fuck like a man who could have sent the Volge, that's for sure." The joke was typical Kenya, but underneath the facade, Amanda could see her resolve breaking down, a small, disgusted shudder running across her shoulders. "Datak is in on this?"

Amanda shrugged. "I'm not sure what Datak knows or what he doesn't know. Did either of them say anything about where they were going next? Did they mention the Earth Republic?"

Kenya shook her head. "No. He said he used to work at Echelon."

"That's damn close enough to the Earth Republic," Amanda replied, Echelon only adding another strand of information to the web of lies she was trying to unravel. "They supply most of their weapons."

"I did overhear them saying that Nicky was in town," Kenya recalled. "Maybe you'd have better luck talking this through with her."

Even the mere mention of Nicky's name still cut deep, slicing open the anger that Amanda had tried to seal away with half a bottle of scotch the previous night, but to no avail. She didn't try to hide her disdain from Kenya. "Nicky is working with them," she said, the words still plasticky on her tongue, as if manufactured by another reality. "She's behind all of this: Luke's murder, the Volge attack. All of it."

Kenya reeled backwards, a physical manifestation of her disbelief. "What? How could she do something like that to a town that she built herself?"

"I don't know," Amanda mumbled, not wanting to spend more time than she had to questioning Nicky's motives. She'd spent the entire night doing that, and it had gotten her nothing but a pounding headache and bags under her eyes. The toaster gave a loud ping as the one slice of bread popped out of its slot, nearly landing on the counter. Kenya didn't move to retrieve it, instead walking the few paces to Amanda, putting a hand on her forearm.

"I'm sorry, Bee. Are you okay?"

Amanda nodded, looking up at her with the same steely eyes that had always comforted Kenya. "Nothing left to do but to - "

"Move on and move out," Kenya finished, the saying a shared thing between them, a philosophy that had carried them through most of their time together during the Wars. "But, Nicky... I know you looked up to her, Amanda, especially after Mom - "

"She turned out exactly like Mom." Kenya stopped short, her wide eyes freezing, and Amanda immediately regretted her words.

"What did you say?"

Her fatigue was making her sloppy, and Amanda rose from the counter and tossed the piece of toast on a plate, Kenya's accusing, inquisitive eyes following her. "Nothing," she backtracked, placing the plate on the counter in front of her sister. "I meant, I lost her, too. Just like mom."

Kenya still stared suspiciously at her. "That's not what you said. You said - "

"Look, Kenya, I'm exhausted, so don't parse whatever I said too hard, okay? Right now, I've got bigger problems than to play semantics with you." She didn't like herself, or her attitude, or the way that her words made Kenya frown. She sighed, cursing herself under her breath. "I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, you're tired." Kenya looked up at her, the frown turning into one of sympathy rather than hurt. "Nolan knows about this, right? About Nicky?"

Amanda nodded, moving to the refrigerator, intent on keeping her hands moving. She pulled out a jar of peanut butter and began spreading it over Kenya's toast, a breakfast habit her sister had kept for years. The simple task, and the memories that came with it, helped her feel a touch lighter.

"Want me to come over tonight?" Kenya asked, perching on the counter. "I can make you a real dinner, at least."

Amanda smiled. "You don't have clients?"

"Fuck my clients." Kenya cocked her head. "Or, I'll get someone else to fuck my clients." She grinned, and for the first time in a long while, Amanda laughed, taking a bite out of the toast, a tradition of her own that consistently irritated Kenya. Today was no different, and Kenya frowned, pulling the toast to her side of the counter.

"I'll see you tonight, then," Amanda said, moving towards the door. "If anything comes up, just - "

"Nothing will come up," Kenya returned matter-of-factly. "I'll see you tonight."

Amanda nodded, accepting the steadfast promise for what it was, which was only an intention, at least until a client popped up, or something more interesting came along at the NeedWant. Over the years, Amanda had become adept at hiding the small snips of disappointment that cut into her whenever Kenya bailed on her, offering excuses of the caliber usually reserved for a parent rather than a sister. The times Amanda enjoyed best, though, were the ones where she forgot her responsibilities to Kenya, and instead simply drifted back into the innocent bond they shared before New Earth changed everything for them.

It was ten minutes until eight when Amanda hit the street again, the sun now a bit higher in the sky, but the morning still retained its coolness. She had originally agreed to meet Stahma that morning, but now there was no need. Still, Amanda wished she had kept the original plan, if only to have a concrete excuse to see Stahma. Feeling foolish, she headed towards the tailor's shop anyway, which was certainly near enough to the Darby building that she could play off her optimism by simply walking into her office. Around her, people went about their daily tasks, oblivious to the threat surrounding them, which Amanda carried like a weighted ball bearing in her chest. As she came to the small, square tailor's shop, its tin roof glinting in the sun, an inner voice scoffed at her naiveté, and she turned, irritated at her own hopefulness.

"Amanda."

She turned, that hopefulness stubbornly rearing its head again, and saw Stahma standing at the corner of the store. Amanda stepped towards her. "I would say that I didn't expect to see you here," she said. "But, we both know that would be a lie."

Stahma smiled, squinting into the sun, her eyes a soft purple. "I decided to take a chance on my morning walk." It was partly true; she woke up that morning with an expressed desire to see Amanda, a yearning so strong that it frightened her. Their romance had begun to change her, and she found herself repeatedly helpless against her own need.

Amanda took a moment to glance around the periphery, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, but something prickled a sixth sense inside her, and she gestured toward the door, which still had a "CLOSED" sign posted on its glass. Ignoring it, they walked into the shop, its interior empty except for the lone Liberata behind the counter. "Well," he said, his furry lips curling into a smile. "Double royalty at the same time."

Stahma smiled, nodding politely at him. "Chuckie, I realize you're not open yet, but I was actually stopping by to see if you had accumulated enough scraps for me to take to the Casti Sewing Society? We'd like to increase our donation to the Riordan Fund from last year, but we're running low on extra fabric." She felt Amanda's eyes on her. "This year, the Mayor is volunteering to help us."

Amanda nodded, playing along. Stahma was always a step ahead of everyone else, covering her tracks before they were even made. If she weren't limited by her own race's customs, she would have certainly been a political figure.

Chuckie eased from behind the counter. "You know I'm always ready to help out with a good cause." He motioned her to follow him. "Mayor, you should see what those women do with my scraps."

Amanda raised an eyebrow at Stahma as she followed them. "Oh, I have," she gushed. "Absolutely wonderful work. And so helpful to the less fortunate in our community."

Chuckie led them to a small back room, where piles of colorful fabric lay stacked atop one another, rainbow-colored, scrappy mounds, some has high as Stahma's waist. "Take a look, and let me know how much you need. I can arrange a drop-off at the center, no problem."

"Thank you, Chuckie."

He nodded, smiling as he left them, his footsteps padding down the narrow, tiled hall. Stahma eyed the doorway carefully, aware there was no door to the small room they were in, but still bent to press a light, fleeting kiss against Amanda's lips. "Did you sleep last night?"

"No," Amanda answered, Stahma's scent momentarily overpowering the smell of old, slightly damp cloth. "Did you?"

"Heavens no," Stahma echoed. "I couldn't even think about falling asleep until Datak got home. He was perfectly himself, but I laid awake all night waiting for him to turn over and uncover my deceit." She shook her head. "He left this morning for work, his usual routine. Nothing was amiss."

Footsteps padded back down the hallway, and Stahma put an extra step between the two of them as Chuckie peered into the room, his furry eyebrows raised questioningly at them. "I'm walking next door to get a coffee before I open the shop. Can I get you ladies anything?"

Stahma shook her head, but Amanda nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a scrib coin. "Coffee, black," she said, tossing it to him. "It's on me."

Chuckie held up the coin at her in a tacit thanks, turning back down the hallway. Amanda waited for the bell at the front door to signal his exit before she continued. "Have Birch and Nicky left town?"

"I'm not certain. I haven't heard Datak speak to either of them since they left last night. But, I do know they're more than likely staying at the Inn." Stahma searched for any sign of the grief that had racked Amanda the night before, but other than the telltale tiredness, her eyes were as hard as emeralds. "Amanda, for what it's worth, Nicky did seem to hold some remorse. Whatever ambition is pushing her to do this, it's not because of a lack of love for you."

Amanda's overt laughter didn't surprise Stahma. Humans didn't appreciate complexity, an oversight that struck her as odd, one that kept them from fully comprehending the nuances of what held the world together: love, betrayal, balance. "I don't care," Amanda scoffed. "The only thing I care about is saving Defiance. Nicky can shove her love up her shtakhole, for all it's worth to me."

"Love doesn't simply disappear overnight."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Amanda answered, her words taking on a new meaning. "But, I don't plan on sticking by the people that hurt me."

Stahma let the dig pass with a small smile. "Are you suggesting that I do?"

"I listened to the tape again, Stahma. The part where Datak responds to Nicky and Birch, in all probability agreeing to help them find the key, is muffled over. Even if I did want to turn him over to the E-Reps, there would be nothing on him."

"You always knew of my intentions around Datak."

Amanda studied her with a pair of hard, judgmental eyes. "All this time, Stahma, I suspected you were the one pulling the strings with Datak. But, you're not, are you? He's got you coiled so tightly in fear at what he's capable of, that you wouldn't dare cross him." Stahma avoided her gaze, and Amanda knew she had hit the truth. "That's not power."

Stahma's voice was suddenly icy, as cool as the chill that ran through her. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You have a chance to live your own life. If you implicate Datak in treason against the Earth Republic, he's out of your life. With Alak of age, you wouldn't get direct control of Datak's assets, but you could at least have more of a shot of being treated equally."

"And shunned," Stahma hissed, the mere suggestion of that level of freedom such an out of reach dream that it inspired only repulsion from her. "I came here this morning because I wanted to see if you were okay, not to be insulted." She took a step away from Amanda, fingering a piece of red, tattered cloth. "I chose my path a long time ago," she continued, her voice even and emotionless. "We both must be content with what we have."

Amanda took the few steps over to her, leaving little space between them, and pressed Stahma back against the large pile of scraps, the red cloth striking next to Stahma's pale skin. "Are you content with what you have?" Amanda asked, meeting her lips.

"Amanda - " Stahma broke contact, turning her head towards the open doorway, but Amanda guided her chin back gently with her fingers, taking her lips once again, the kiss slow, but demanding. "Are you content with the way he kisses you?" she asked lowly, moving her mouth just behind Stahma's ear, familiar with the way it made her shudder. Amanda's hatred towards Datak didn't fit with her infatuation with his wife; she needed Stahma to hate him as well, if only to make Amanda feel better about falling so deeply for her. "Are you content with the way he touches you?" She ran her fingers up the sides of Stahma's thighs, seeking purchase underneath her dress.

Stahma didn't stop her, still focused on the feel of Amanda's lips brushing her neck, her whispered words tickling her spine. She was aware of the space around her, but only in a peripheral way, her visual sense overcome by the smell of Amanda's hair, the intimacy of her words, and the feel of strong, capable fingers between her legs.

"Does he know that he doesn't even need to be inside you?" Amanda met Stahma's eyes as her fingers pressed against her. Stahma trembled against the pile of rags, her chest heaving underneath her cloak. It felt as if Amanda was punishing her and rewarding her at the same time, and rather than try to decipher between the two, she simply let her hips guide her into her touch. Amanda kissed her again, her tongue just as dominant as her fingers, which were pulling soft, panted moans from Stahma's lips. Amanda pulled away from the kiss, her mouth returning to Stahma's ear. "Does he know what you like to hear?"

Stahma's hands, which up until then had gripped and torn at the cloth at behind her, moved to Amanda's shoulders, pulling her closer, but she was too cognizant of her surroundings to give up the mounting pressure inside her. The image of herself, a woman of her liro, pressed against a pile of scraps, completely and utterly helpless against the feel of this particular Human's touch, should have made her burn with shame. Instead, she wanted those fingers on her, needed to feel what that touch represented for her: lust, longing... love.

Amanda leaned into her, whispering into her ear. ""I don't want you to be content, Stahma. I want you to be free."

A shot of intense pleasure exploded at the very place where Amanda's fingers touched her, and Stahma bucked forward. It was all the more rewarding because of its very unexpectedness, and her hands clung to Amanda's shoulders, brushing down her back. The whole ordeal had taken less than a minute, but the reminder of it still radiated between Stahma's legs, and would stay with her, she knew, throughout the morning. She breathed in Amanda's scent, kissing the edge of her collarbone. "Even though I think of you when I'm with him, and when I'm not with him, you know I can't leave him," she murmured, her voice barely audible over their heavy breathing. Leaning back, she expected disappointment, but Amanda's eyes only held a deep, honest resignation.

"I know," she sighed. Their foreheads rested together, hands intertwining at their sides.

"If you could go back, to that first morning..." Stahma flashed back to the image of Amanda at their second Armistice Day meeting: her braid draped across her shoulder, her quiet confidence, which had only been punctured by the scattering of the large stack of file folders as they spilled from her hands, littering the floor. Stahma, the only one left in the room, knelt to help her, their hands touching repeatedly, until it finally seemed as if they were intentionally going out of their way to make contact with one another. Stahma moved her hand up to Amanda's braid, the touch bringing her back to the present. "Would you have stopped me?"

Amanda recalled how Stahma had taken her hand, leading her into a side room in the banquet hall. Her heart had been pounding, to the point where Amanda was certain the sound of it was what brought out the small, sly smile Stahma gave as she leaned in to kiss her. "No," she replied softly, staring back at her. "I wouldn't have stopped you."

The bell at the front door rang again, and Stahma let her hands fall reluctantly back to her sides. "Your dreadful coffee is here," she whispered, her eyes drifting to the doorway, where she knew Chuckie would momentarily appear. She leaned in, kissing Amanda's lips. "Until next time." She walked toward the door, but turned back. "Aren't you coming? You have to pretend to care about these dreadful scraps, too."

Amanda laughed lightly, but followed her. "I'd say as a Castithan, little white lies are your territory."

"Human puns are never as humorous as you all believe they are." Stahma glanced back at her with a stoic face, but a smile slipped through soon enough, and as the two of them shared another laugh together, she wished she could preserve the light, buoyant feeling that seemed to lift her off the ground. As soon as she left the shop, and returned home, she would come crashing back to New Earth, but that was a reality that she was content to push away for another few moments.

* * *

Amanda spent the rest of her morning inside her office, catching up on some badly attended paperwork that had been left to pile up on her desk: the never-ending pages that required her signature, which required her to understand them, which required her to actually read them. Well after lunch, she finally stabbed her pen into the last document, a sigh of accomplishment floating over her desk. Her peace, however, was short-lived, as Nolan appeared in her doorway, his boots just as muddied as hers were the first time they visited the Old City.

She stared at him accusingly, eyeing the mud he tracked across her carpet. "Did you go to the mines without me?"

"I did," he replied, sinking into one of the chairs in front of her desk, wishing it had a little more padding to offer his sore back. He ignored her poignant stare. "You don't need to be trucking it around down in the mines."

"Why not?"

"You're too pretty." He didn't wait for her reprimand, which he was sure was coming, judging by the look on her face. "You want to continue to pout, or you want me to tell you what I found?"

"Tell me what you found, and then I'll pout."

"It's a plan." He grinned. "When's the last time Defiance had a terraquake?"

Amanda calculated the years in her head. "Probably twelve years or so. Kenya and I weren't even here, we were still in New York. Why?"

Nolan nodded. "That follows with what we found. Looks like Quentin uncovered a passageway in the mines that had been intact prior to the last terraquake. Makes sense now why it was nowhere on Rafe's maps. He never saw it. But, it was on Quentin's." He stood, eyeing Amanda's bottle of scotch, but thought better of it. "The passageway backs right into the nuclear plant."

Amanda wove her fingers together, pressing them against her lips. "So, what, Birch and Nicky know about this mine shaft that even Rafe knows nothing about?"

"Seems that way. But, it's what's on the floor that's the kicker."

Amanda glanced down at his shoes. "Let me guess, mud?"

Nolan shook his head. "Etchings. One that looks exactly like the artifact we found, painted right there on the ground, like some sort of marker. And on the sides, two Indogene symbols. One for mind, one for brain."

Amanda stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to process what he was telling her, but she came up short. "I'm more confused now than when we started."

Nolan sighed. "You too, huh?"

Amanda tapped her fingers on her desk. "Doc said that the Eighth Race technology wasn't about reverse terraforming at all. She said it was about the brain. Mind control. I was really hoping against this, but what if we've actually stumbled on something bigger than we ever imagined?"

"You said Doc told you this?"

Amanda nodded, getting up from her chair and walking over to the bookshelf at the edge of the wall. She bent over, searching for a volume that she'd seen Nicky peruse only once, but it was nowhere to be found, and cursed lightly under her breath. "Nicky used to have a volume, written in Votan, about the science of the Indogene mind. It's not here anymore." She hit the bookcase, frustrated. "Damn her."

Nolan recognized the pent up anger that came through in Amanda's closed fist, but before he could call her on it, Lana peered through the doorway. "Mayor, the Mayor is here to see you." She grinned. "I love saying that."

Amanda felt her stomach drop, like an anchor weighting it to the floor, and her pulse kicked up a notch. "What?"

"Mayor Nicky. She's back in town and she stopped by to see you. I told her you were in with the Lawkeeper, but I didn't want to keep her waiting."

Amanda felt Nolan's eyes on her, and she couldn't help but meet them. "You want me to stay?" he asked, his chest swelling with a protective concern.

She shook her head, plastering a smile on her face for Lana's benefit only. "No, no, I think we're done here for now," she answered. "It's best if we continue this at the precinct, anyway." He looked as if he wasn't intent on leaving, but Amanda motioned her head towards the door, and he followed Lana, looking back at her before he left. "Chup her," he mouthed, winning an anxious half-smile from Amanda.

She bristled as Nicky stepped into her office, a bright blue pantsuit contrasting with the whiteness of her hair. "I'm beginning to think you're trying to check up on me," Amanda said with a forced laugh, not immediately embracing her former mentor, but after a moment she moved forward, if only to keep some semblance of normality. Nicky's lips on her cheek were cold and puckered, the warmth that they used to hold completely gone. Amanda pulled back, studying her, in some way trying to reconcile the woman she saw before her with the same woman that had shown such care for her over the past eight years. To go from meaning something to her to meaning nothing to harkened back to that fateful day with her own mother, who hadn't turned back, not even once, to glance at the daughter she left behind. Amanda turned towards her desk, if only to have an excuse to look away.

"I had lunch with Rafe today," Nicky offered, her eyes darting to the hourglass that sat on the credenza, her favored piece of art from her office, now for more reasons than one. "He said that Nolan recovered the artifact Luke found. The one that got him killed." The blue of her eyes flashed with an interested hunger. "I guess that means you're close to figuring out who was behind the murder."

Even if Amanda had warned Rafe to be discreet about the investigation, he never would have considered Nicky suspicious. Still, she felt the thread of her plan unravel a bit further. "Nolan did recover it," she confirmed. "We sent it to the Earth Republic Research Administration for further input." The lie grew, sounding better, more plausible as she told it. "The last thing I need is for someone to destroy the town looking for some piece of scavenged arkfall." She gave Nicky a tired smile, hoping it sounded just as good to her ears as it did to her own. "Right?"

Nicky didn't respond right away, absorbing the twist that their game had taken. "I suppose so," she said with a cunning smile. "And that, my dear, is exactly why I left Defiance in your capable hands." She strutted towards the scotch container, glancing at Amanda for tacit permission to pour them both a drink.

"How long are you in town?" Amanda asked, innocently enough.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Nicky sighed. "It's that godforsaken estate, it just won't sell. I've been back and forth with my agent a number of times, but I should have just done the job myself. Humans are just as fickle and shady as they always were."

Amanda took the glass extended, holding it up in the air for a cheers. "You've never spoken truer words," she said, her tone harsh beneath her smile. Their glasses clinked, and Nicky took a seat.

"You're a smart girl, Amanda." She took a long, slow sip of her scotch. "Too smart to send an unknown artifact off to the Earth Republic for analysis, especially if said artifact was worth anything." Amanda walked towards the window, not making eye contact with her. "The question is, Why in the world would you lie to me about it?"

The question unfurled the edges of Amanda's composed demeanor, and for a moment, panic fluttered through her. When she turned back to Nicky, however, the older woman stared up at her with a knowing smile, raising a finger. "I know, I know. You're just looking out for me. Whoever wanted that artifact wasn't afraid to kill to get it. The less I know, the better."

Amanda let out a long, slow breath, as if someone had punctured her lungs with a small pin. "You protected this town, and me, for years. It's my job to protect you, now." She felt as if she were walking on a thin, live wire, tottering along the edges of her lies, simply trying to get to the other side. She leaned against the window, glancing out at the town below, a town she had watched grow through that very window over the past eight years. "Why did you reach out to me that day?" she asked, suddenly wanting to explore the woman that had hurt her so much. "That day in the hallway, all those years ago."

Nicky swallowed at the turn in conversation. "Well, you were scrubbing that floor so hard I was afraid you were going to wear the tile through and through. If I didn't stop you, we'd have had a hole in the middle of the Mayor's building." She chuckled, her eyes glowing with the memory, but the warmth of her recollection only hurt Amanda more. "I knew you had come from Manhattan," she said. "From the Earth Republic. And the fact that you left that... dynasty, only to wash floors..." she trailed off, her eyes glazing with the fog of the past. "Honestly, dear, I don't know what made me take a chance on you. But, I do know it was the best decision I ever made."

Amanda gave an exaggerated nod. "I'll bet."

Nicky understood the intention behind the remark, and rose, taking the last of her scotch in a quick gulp. "I must be going, or else I'm going to start itching to sign some documents or read a few memos." She had spent too much time with her old charge, and allowed too many emotions to resurface. She touched the hourglass on the credenza. "Do you mind if I take this with me?" she asked. "I'm quite fond of it."

Amanda glanced at the smooth glass, waving her hand. "Go right ahead." She never cared much for the object, the way its cascading sand only reminded her of passing moments and wasted time.

Nicky tucked it under her arm, walking towards the window, where Amanda still stood. She reached a hand out to her cheek, cupping it gently. The touch burned, but Amanda swallowed, not pulling away from it. Nicky's eyes were wistful. "My dear, I am going to miss you."

Amanda's jaw hardened under her touch, the meaning of her words not lost on either of them. "No," she whispered. "I'm the one that's going to miss you."

Nicky smiled, giving one last gentle tug at the blonde braid that hung over Amanda's shoulder. She turned, her own jaw hardening with solid resolve; her grasshopper had finally outshone her, and now, unfortunately, that light would have to be extinguished. Amanda watched her go, a small part of her hoping that Nicky would turn back, but once again, she was left disappointed.

* * *

The Tarr household was quiet without Alak around, his absence leaving a hole that Stahma couldn't fill, even with the task of replanting her garden, and she missed him. Datak had been home for awhile, but disappeared into his office, and had been holed up in the room for a few hours. As night crept over the house, Stahma knocked lightly on his door, peering in at him, where he sat with his back to her, his head angled downward. "Darling," she said, in their native language. "Ashma prepared the water. Would you like your bath now?"

He turned slowly, and she saw his transmitter in his lap, which he quickly switched off with a flick of his thumb. He smiled, but his eyes didn't. "I will join you in a few moments. Why don't you prepare for me?"

She nodded, wondering what had held his attention for so long, but she didn't expect him to share half the things he did down at the Hollows. She walked upstairs and undressed, slipping into the steaming water. Settling into the bath, Stahma let her hands drift up her thighs as her thoughts drifted inward, towards Amanda. In a few moments, Datak would join her, but for now she could let her mind wander, imagining softer hands caressing her, kissing her. Her eyes closed, and she tunneled away from her home, remembering the closeness, the feel of wet skin against skin as the two of them sat in Amanda's bathtub. Her eyes flew open as Datak entered, sliding into the bath at the opposite end, his brow crinkled in a way that did not match his usual bath demeanor.

"Is something wrong?" Stahma asked, making her way over to him, the water rippling in her wake. He didn't reply, instead moving his fingers up her stomach and caressing her breast, kneading it with an intense concentration. He continued upwards, stroking her collarbone, his fingers sliding to her neck. It was only then that Stahma caught the spark of impending rage in his eyes, a brief flash of something to come, and a twinge of fright made her rear back from him. His fingers tightened like a vice around her neck, siphoning off her air as he pushed her downwards, her feet slipping along the slick surface of the floor. In the space of a second, she was underwater, struggling against the weight of her husband's hand. Her eyes and mouth opened reflexively, and she caught his face, blurred by the troubled water.

After a few seconds, his fingers loosened, allowing her to surface. Stahma coughed, gasping in precious air as Datak let her head bob above the water, but just as the air hit her lungs, he submerged her again. With no reserves, she gulped in water, the reflex to breathe too strong to ignore. When he allowed her to surface again, her airway was still paralyzed for a long, panicked moment before she coughed, giving up water in order to take in some air. His hand stayed around her neck as he shoved her back against the side of the pool, his eyes a dark, deep gray. "How dare you defile me in such a way," he hissed.

Stahma wasn't able to respond, still gasping in air, but her labored pause only seemed to anger Datak more, and she tried, weakly, to speak. "What?" she sputtered, water still leaking from her lips. "Datak - "

"You want to cuckold me?" he yelled, slamming his hand against the tile beside her, and she jumped, imagining his fist connecting with her skin. "With Amanda Rosewater?"

Her stomach sunk, as if it was being submerged in the bath as well, and her mind flashed in a kaleidoscope of directions at once. "I didn't cuckold you," she protested, gripping the hand still strained around her neck. She had no idea what he knew, or how he knew it, but she needed him to talk, if only to keep him from hurting her.

"Where did you go last night after dinner?" Her mind reeled; someone had to have followed her, but she had been so careful. "You went to the Darby building," Datak continued, railing over whatever excuse she was attempting to cobble together.

Her thoughts were thick and slow, like molasses moving through her brain. "I - Yes, I went, Datak, but - "

"I heard the two of you. I heard everything."

That piece of information pierced the fog rolling through her head. "The office was bugged?" she asked, trying simultaneously to remember the words she and Amanda shared while coming up with some way to excuse them.

"Nicky covers her bases."

Stahma's eyes searched Datak's, looking for some reprieve from his anger. "I was simply trying to discover where she and Nolan hid the key, that's all. She trusts me." Her excuses were having some effect; Datak's eyes still blazed a hot yellow, but his breathing lengthened, and his fingers dropped from her neck. "I was simply trying to help you, that's all," she stammered. "I only wanted to help you. To help us."

Datak averted his gaze from his wife. "There's been something between us for awhile, now," he said. "Your touch, it's empty of passion. Is she the reason why?"

Stahma shook her head, her hands tentatively reaching towards his chest. "No, my love. I was simply using her last night, that's all. After Nicky mentioned the key, I thought perhaps Amanda would tell me something useful."

Datak nodded, and for a moment relief flooded through Stahma, but the feeling disappeared instantly as Datak spoke again. "I imagine its only appropriate that I pay her a visit, then."

The words latched into her like talons, ripping apart the composure Stahma had managed to keep. "Datak, no," she began, her palms flat against his chest. "You won't solve anything by harming her."

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you care for her more than you'd like to admit?"

The question was a test, and if Stahma failed it, Datak would hurt not only her, but he would certainly take his wrath to Amanda as well. "Of course not," she whispered, the lie sour on her tongue.

Datak jerked her hand underneath the water. "Prove it."

Stahma peered back at him, searching his face. "Datak..." He said nothing, but merely kept his hand on hers until she began to stroke him slowly, bile rising in her throat as he swelled at her touch. His breath becoming labored, she kept her gaze on the water behind him, unable to meet his darkened eyes. She kept up her efforts, and his breath came harder, reflecting his desire, until he turned her away from him, roughly bending her over the stairs at the side of the tub. Her knees hit the porcelain, pain spiking up her legs, and he entered her, thrusting violently. Stahma gazed vacantly ahead, focusing on a drop of water resting on the floor, the rest of the room a white blur, and she wished she could simply blur into it, ceasing to exist. His hand closed once again around her throat as he finished, pulling out of her and pulling her up and into him, whispering in her ear. He grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her up and into him, whispering into her ear. "You will not see her again. Do you understand?"

She shivered, from fear and from anger, but only nodded, thankful when he finally pushed her away from him. She shrunk against the side of the bath, watching as he rose, dripping his way to the door, which slammed behind him. The bath was suddenly silent, too silent for her to absorb the shock of his assault. She shivered in the warm water, only able to navigate the stairs after a few minutes. When she finally rose, pulling her robe tightly around her waist, she walked slowly, reluctantly, towards their bedroom. Datak was already finished dressing, pulling on a gray, tailed jacket, as if preparing for a night at the theater rather than a night of violence.

Ashma appeared at the door, and her appearance made Stahma pull her robe even tighter around her. "Master, you called?"

"Mrs. Tarr isn't feeling well tonight," Datak said, walking over to Stahma and running a hand through her wet hair. "Will you see to it that she stays in bed and gets some much needed rest?" His body was turned towards his servant, but his words flung back at Stahma with a visceral force.

Ashma nodded obediently, ducking a look at Stahma. "Of course."

As she left, Datak turned back to Stahma, pressing a kiss at the crown of her pale head. "Don't wait up," he whispered, a threat lingering behind the words. "I won't be back tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, we can discuss your betrayal in further detail. Tonight, you should thank Catsuyo that we're on New Earth and not back at home. Otherwise, I'd spill your guts right here."

He turned, but with one last burst of fight, Stahma grabbed his hand. "Hurting her won't solve anything, Datak." She was careful to keep the plea out of her tone, hoping that the words oozed logic instead.

"No," he replied with a tip of his head. "But it will make me feel so much better. Good night, my dear." He left her then, closing the bedroom door behind him with a final, sole-crushing click.

An uncontrollable shake permeated through Stahma, a reaction unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she moved towards the window that looked out at the front of the house. She waited, her fingers shaking the curtains as she held them back, until Datak's roller peeled away from the side of the house before she ran towards the stairs. Her hailer was in her purse, but her thoughts were coming too fast for her to remember where she had left it. She moved blindly toward the kitchen, ramming in to a hard, physical figure, the force of contact knocking her on her heels, and a pair of strong, vice-like arms steadied her.

"Good evening, Mrs. Tarr." Stahma recognized the guard's familiar face, remembering the last time she had seen him, and wished she hadn't chastised him so for trampling her flowers. He grinned unkindly at her. "I thought you weren't feeling well."

She knew why he was there, in her home, summoned by Datak to keep an eye on her, but she tried to move past him anyway. He blocked her way, holding up her hailer. "You wouldn't be looking for this, would you?" he asked, sticking it in his own holster. "I have strict orders, Mrs. Tarr. I suggest you go back up to bed."

Stahma took some comfort in the fact that the hailer Amanda had given her had gone unnoticed, still more than likely nestled in the bottom pocket of her satchel. She only needed to get to it. "The only orders you need to follow at the moment are mine," she said to him, hoping he didn't hear the tiny waver in her voice. She attempted to move past him again, but he stood in her path like an immovable rock, and her fists railed towards him, but he was bigger, and faster. The back of his hand connected with her mouth with a loud crack, and she tasted blood as the room spun for a few seconds. She reached for the wall, but he grabbed her arm, yanking her back toward the stairs.

Ashma appeared behind him, and he turned, tossing his hand at her. "Get the lady upstairs and clean her up," he shouted.

Stahma let Ashma lead her upstairs and into the bathroom, her jaw radiating pain. Ashma settled her gently onto the edge of the sink, trying to press a cold towel against her bleeding lip, but Stahma's breath came too fast, fueled by panic, for her to accomplish anything. After a few seconds she took both of her hands and gently framed her mistress's jaw. "What can I do to help you?" she asked, her eyes expressing a solidarity that her words could only begin to communicate.

"I have another hailer," Stahma began, the taste of blood on her tongue. "Call Amanda, tell her to go to the Lawkeeper's and to stay there." She stood, on shaky knees, ripping open the white medicinal cupboard, fishing through the myriad medications that Datak kept on hand, some left over from his days in the army, others accumulated through the black market he ran in the Hollows. She pulled open a small bottle, dumping a large, white pill in her hand. "I'll have a cup of tea," she said quietly, her hands finally ceasing their incessant shake. "But, please, make sure our guest has something as well." She handed Ashma the pill. "Do you understand what I need you to do?"

Ashma nodded, dumping the pill into the pocket of her frock. Stahma watched her leave, the taste of blood still on her lips. She pressed the wet cloth against her lip, hissing at the sting. She knew her husband. Whatever pain she felt was nothing like what he would make Amanda feel. With Ashma's help, and with a little grace, Stahma hoped she would get to her in time.

* * *

**I will have the next update for you sooner than you think - until then, please let me know what you think... As always, thank you for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The Defiance skyline, marked by low clouds, created a darkness so palpable that Amanda felt if she reached up, she could stir it like a thick, black paint. It was so different than the Manhattan skyline that illuminated her nights as a child, the buildings outside her bedroom window that never seemed to sleep, even long after her parents tucked her and Kenya into bed. Those lights faded during the wars, their soft, shimmering glow replaced with a constant, gray dimness broken by flashes of fire light.

It had been easy to leave a city that she no longer recognized, a place that no longer felt like home, and as a frontier town, Defiance beckoned to her. Everyone, Votans and humans alike, had been looking to reinvent themselves in some way, either to forget the atrocities that had been done to them or to forget the atrocities they had done to others. As Mayor, Nicky had capitalized on that truth, convincing the races to come together in unprecedented ways. Amanda could only hope that Defiance would survive long enough for her to do the same.

The lot outside the Darby building was deserted as she walked toward her roller, which was parked nearest to the door, a small perk of being the one in charge. Fishing for her keys inside her bag, Amanda noticed the light of her hailer blinking up at her amid the folders of memos she toted home. It was most likely Kenya, who, whenever navigating Amanda's kitchen, seemed to forget where anything was kept, at times needing so many reminders that Amanda half preferred preparing the meal herself. The number flashing up at her, though, was not Kenya's, and Amanda stopped short on the gravel path. It could have been a mistake; Stahma could have hailed her by accident. "Shtako," she murmured, pressing open the message that blinked up at her. An unrecognizable voice came through the speaker, shaky and low, and Amanda had to strain in order to hear the words, stopping at the door of her roller. A faint feeling of dread prickled the skin on her arms as the message cut off, and she barely had time to absorb its meaning before she was conscious of footsteps behind her.

A force threw her forward, and her head cracked into the roller's metal frame, her hailer falling to the gravel at her feet. Pain bludgeoned its way through her head, and she turned, unable to focus on the figure looming over her, but struggling against it anyway, her hands pushing against a strong, broad chest. She didn't register the bright green of a Casti light until her body went rigid, every muscle flexing uncontrollably, sending her slumping forward into the very arms she was trying to evade. There were two figures, both with pale white hair that shone in the dim light of the moon. One went to the driver's side, helping the other pull her unceremoniously into the roller. Amanda sagged between the two of them, her body useless, betraying her urge to fight, or at the very least, to scream. She lolled helplessly against the second man, who nevertheless placed a light fire weapon at her temple.

Gravel spun underneath the tires as they peeled out of the lot, and Amanda recognized the path towards the Hollows, its maze of dark tents and trailers unmistakable, even in the darkness. Even as movement came back to her, she stayed still, the cold, round muzzle at her forehead a reminder that any move would mean a laser to the head. The men were Castithan, which meant they worked for Datak. And that could only mean one thing: that something had gone horribly wrong, which meant that Stahma was in danger, too. The car came to a stop outside a small freight container propped up on cement blocks, a squat, but foreboding box of a building. With the weapon still at her head, Amanda cooperated as the second man pulled her out of the roller. Her nerves still somewhat numb, it took a few steps for her to regain command of her legs, but she followed obediently. Whatever was going on, she would more than likely have better luck reasoning with Datak than with any of his goons.

They lead her into the small, metal structure, its walls as bare as its floor, the air inside thick and warm. Two harsh lightbulbs dangled from wires hung from the ceiling, giving off a hard, white glow that made Amanda squint. A couple of chairs sat abandoned at one side of the room, and a small, black bag rested on one of them. Datak stood in the center of the room, widening his arms in a gesture of greeting. "Good evening, Mayor," he said with a bright smile.

Amanda jerked away from the Castithan that held her, eager to be rid of his hands and to regain some sort of control. She turned, cracking her fist across his nose, her knuckles smarting from the pain. The other man, the driver, caught her by the collar of her jacket, raising his fist to return the blow, but Datak's voice halted him. "Ah ah," he called, raising a finger. "This is the Mayor we've got here. Remember, she's a public figure. That face needs to stay presentable." He turned back to the chair at the far end of the room. "Below the neck, only."

The driver's fist changed course, ramming into Amanda's gut, the force collapsing her to her knees as her diaphragm collapsed, unable to take in any air. The other guard, his hand still cupped over his nose, didn't hesitate to get in a blow as well, and his boot hit the side of her torso, flattening her against the cold floor. She didn't move, hoping that by keeping still, she wouldn't invite any more pain.

"Amanda, you're more than welcome to take another cheap shot at my employees, but if you're ready, we can get down to more important business." Datak pushed one of the chairs with his boot, sending it skidding to the middle of the room.

Amanda waited a few seconds until her breath returned, but as she sat up, pain shot from her midsection, and for a moment she thought she would anger the guards even further by upchucking on their boots. They made no move to help her up, and she slowly got to her feet, her ribs feeling as if they were scraping against one another. No sooner had regained her balance than the driver reached for her, tugging at her jacket. This set off a new spark of panic that made her ignore the pain in her side long enough to make his work much more difficult. The second man helped him, wrenching the jacket from her arms and pushing her into the chair. Her relief was only short-lived as the two made quick work of taping her wrists against the arms of the chair with wide, black tape. Her left arm was twisted around, secured with her palm facing up.

Datak motioned for the two men to back away, and Amanda glared up at him, surprised at how strong her voice sounded, considering the fact that her heart felt as if it was beating in her throat. "You know, I have an open door policy, Datak. If you wanted to discuss something with me, Lana would have been happy to pencil you in."

Datak chuckled. "Ah, don't consider this a discussion. Consider it an interrogation."

Amanda was flying blind, and also incapacitated, and her fear kicked up a notch. She had no idea what Datak knew, or how he knew it, and until she found out, she kept her comments vague, hoping to draw something out of him. "You attract more flies with honey, you know."

Datak moved to the other chair, picking up the black bag. "You have a quick tongue, Amanda," he said, turning to look at her, the surface of his eyes glazed with controlled bitterness. "I suppose that's what my wife saw in you, is that right?"

The words were like another punch in the gut, silencing Amanda for a few slow seconds. Her mind reeled backwards, scanning through her encounters with Stahma, searching her memories for any indication that they had been followed. Or worse, that Stahma had betrayed her in order to make things up to her husband. In those few seconds, she knew she had lost any opportunity to deny the charge; her silence spoke volumes.

"In the old days, when two people had a disagreement over someone else's property, we engaged in blood duels to sort this type of thing out."

"Your property?" Amanda questioned, her stomach turning.

"That's correct." Datak pulled the second chair over to her, its legs scraping across the cement floor with a prolonged screech. He opened the bag, pulling out a small syringe. "I fought a few duels in my time on Casti. Some Votans say winning a blood duel is about agility, or quickness, but I'm going to let you in on a little secret." He put his elbows on his knees, leaning towards her, as if confiding in an old friend. "It's about being vicious. People can't fight something that they can't understand." Datak paused, but Amanda said nothing, most of her brain still attempting to process how she had gotten into such a precarious position, and he merely continued. "As you know, Humans outlawed blood duels quite a number of years ago. Too much for them to stomach." He connected a small vial to the syringe, and Amanda recognized the swirl of orange and blue inside it, a small cylinder of liquid fire. "So, we'll just settle for the next best thing."

Amanda struggled, testing her bonds, but the tape only pinched at her skin, keeping her arms immovable. Datak peered down at her, nodding, like an instructor pleased with a good student. "I see you're familiar with ensanguine. I wasn't sure if you'd remember it so long after the Wars."

Amanda was more than familiar with the effects of ensanguine, and had seen its effects play out in the streets of Manhattan, bodies splotched with heat poisoning, their blood bubbling under their skin. It was only during her time working with the Earth Republic that she found out Echelon was behind the drug, and had been one of the main reasons it had found its way to the black market once the wars were over. "Datak, whatever this is about - "

"This, Amanda, is about you taking what is rightfully mine." He leaned down to her, the needle inches from her eyes. "Let's not delay the inevitable."

"Whatever you think you know, Datak, it's not true."

This made him pause, the syringe halting just over her vein. "I could say the same to you, dear Mayor. Whoever you thought you could trust, you can't." The words edged their way into the folds of Amanda's brain, prickling a suspicion that had long lay dormant, and again she wondered how Datak had come to find out about his wife. Amanda kept her eyes on the needle, which slowly traced a thin, blue vein in her arm. Datak slipped the sharp point beneath her skin. The puncture was nothing compared to the burn that raced up her arm, like a live wire tipping inside her. It spread faster than she imagined it would, using her own bloodstream to give off a pulsing, unpleasant heat. Her eyes followed the now empty syringe, only traces of the liquid left inside it. "Don't worry," Datak said, gesturing towards the black bag. "There's plenty more where that came from." He grinned, cocking his head. "We're just warming up."

* * *

Stahma paced the bedroom, her head down and all of her senses focused on the sounds coming from the first floor of her home, where she followed the guard's movements with her ears. She had no idea how long it had been since Ashma left her, but the minutes seemed to stretch, giving her time to imagine only the worst. The guard had not come up to check on her again, but his footsteps were heavy and deliberative, tracking their way up and down the front hallway. It was simply another invasive tool Datak employed, making Stahma feel as if her home, as well as her body, weren't her own.

A moment later, lighter, quicker footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Ashma opened the bedroom door, slipping inside. She carried a tray, a mug of tea perched on it, a tacit excuse to see her mistress once more. "Mrs. Tarr, you should be in bed," she said, looking discreetly over her shoulder. "If he comes upstairs..."

"Did you get in touch with her?" Stahma asked, barely waiting for the door to close.

Ashma set the tray down. "I left a message on her hailer, but that's all I could do before Grekak followed me into the pantry and took it from me." She shuddered. "He's like a rabid animal. He stood in the kitchen with me while I made your tea."

Stahma's face fell, understanding the meaning behind Ashma's words. "You didn't get a chance to do what I asked?"

Ashma shook her head, patting the pocket of her smock, which still held the small, potent pill. "Not yet. But he asked me to make him dinner. I'll slip it into his drink then."

Stahma wrung her hands, her knees failing her, and she sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't have time..." She eyed the white floor, hoping the blankness would help her think of something else, some other way of getting to Amanda, or even to her husband, before the awful things in her imagination came to pass.

"The message I left was clear," Ashma assured her. "If she got it, then she will be safe." She turned back to the door, afraid to leave the guard downstairs on his own for too long. "I'll be back up to collect your dish," she offered, her eyes staring darkly back at her. "And the rest will have been done."

Stahma watched the door close, her servant, who had somehow become her only saving grace, leaving her to struggle with those words: _The rest will have been done. _That was exactly what frightened her.

* * *

Amanda felt the first droplets of sweat rolling down her temple in a slow, irksome trickle, but the act of perspiring did nothing to cool her heat hitched up another notch, and her blood became uncomfortable in her own body, searing her nerve endings, pain branching off in a thousand different directions. Datak reached into the bag, pulling out another vial, which only made Amanda's resolve falter that much further. "Have you ever been exposed to ensanguine?" he asked, sitting back and studying the tip of the needle. "I haven't, but I've used it from time to time on others. It can be quite useful in getting information. "

Amanda kept quiet. Ensanguine was a drug that could only run its course, but she had never seen the effects of more than a couple of doses. Even then, she only remembered the agony she'd seen on the faces of the afflicted, faces contorted in paralyzed pain. Datak sat back in his chair, and, conscious of his eyes taking in her reaction, Amanda worked to keep her panic from showing. "What information do you want?" she asked, attempting to keep her voice professional, although their power dynamic at the moment was incredibly skewed.

Datak cocked his head, as if in thought, reloading the syringe. "How about you tell me where the key is?"

This was a question that Amanda could answer, even if her response was just as untruthful as the one she gave Nicky. "We sent it off to the E-Reps. It's no longer in Defiance." Datak nodded, but no sooner than he had finished the gesture, he slipped the needle back into her vein. Amanda's teeth clenched, clicking together as the heat in her body seared through her, a notch hotter this time. A frustrated groan slipped from her lips, and she tried to move her limbs, but they didn't budge; she was left with only the burn. Her insides were on fire.

"I don't believe you," he said. "And neither did Nicky. It burns... having someone you trust betray you like that. Doesn't it?" He didn't wait for her response. "Imagine how I feel then, discovering, thanks to our good former Mayor, that my wife would commit such treason to her own household. I asked myself, Why would she do such a thing? Was she trying to help me by gaining access to information that I couldn't get myself?"

Amanda met his gaze, but didn't speak, the drug cutting off all ability to focus on anything but the burn below her skin. Datak was impressed with her ability to withstand the pain in such silence; in his experience, a second dose usually led to incoherent moans, which only made his work more pleasurable. "My wife's actions had nothing to do with me," he said, leaning forward. For a moment, Amanda caught something other than anger in his eyes, a fleeting hurt, like a wounded animal, but it quickly disappeared. "And do you know how angry that makes me?"

Amanda still didn't answer, aware of Datak looming over her, but unable to articulate a response. It was as if she had swallowed the sun, its rays radiating through her body, burning her from the inside. Even her toes felt as if they would burn through the soles of her shoes. Her shirt stuck to her body as she continued to sweat, her hair matting to her forehead. Still, an awareness, some sort of protective trigger, flickered in the back of her brain. Stahma hadn't been the one to betray them, which meant Datak was just as intent on punishing his wife. Amanda found her voice, even though it took effort not to slur her words. "Stahma was after the key, too," she offered, hoping only to preserve Stahma's safety. She lifted her head towards Datak, but it took more effort than she wanted to admit, and the walls swam upwards, even after her gaze stopped."She asked me about the Old City and the artifact."

Datak ignored her and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. He wiped it across her forehead, able to feel the heat from her skin through the cloth. "Did you bathe with my wife, Amanda?"

This time, Amanda didn't wait before shaking her head, continuing to spin along her web of lies. "No."

Datak bent lower to meet her heavy-lidded eyes. She smelled him, his scent mixing with her own sweat, and she wanted to gag, but the drug had burned the energy right out of her. "Tell me, did she please you?" Amanda didn't respond, the words curling into her ear and resting their like a coiled worm. She shivered, despite the heat running beneath her skin, as Datak continued, his voice precariously low. "The difference between my wife and you is that my wife understands the concept of reverence." He moved the handkerchief down to her neck, where sweat pooled at the small hollow at the center of her collarbone. "Despite whatever lust may have moved her..." His hand continued, delving beneath the sweat-soaked top of her tank, squeezing her breast. Amanda stopped breathing, forcing her eyes straight ahead. He moved his hand back up to her temple, catching the drops of sweat off her skin. "Her reverence for me is what matters most. She will restore her honor however she has to, and so, my dear Mayor, will you."

"What do you want?" Amanda asked, trying to jerk her forehead away from the handkerchief. "The key? It won't get you anywhere, Datak. Nicky isn't telling you the whole truth about the plant."

"Seems to be a recurring Human trait, doesn't it?" He took another vial out of the bag, watching as Amanda's eyes followed it. "Although, judging by my wife's indiscretions, my own kind is just as up to the challenge as you are."

Amanda let her head fall for a moment, her eyes locking onto the floor, and she remembered the coolness of it against her skin. She craved that coolness again, anything to calm the burn, but she kept talking, wondering if what she was giving up to him was worth the effort it took to wrap her tongue around the words. "This is Eighth Race Votech. It's not about the nuclear plant. Stahma was only trying to figure out what they were really up to. She was trying to help you."

"Stop protecting her." Datak came closer, an angry insecurity flickering through his eyes. Amanda's need to protect Stahma, even over her own safety, was something new to him; it was an expression of love, not power, and he had no way to counter it. "Tell me where the key is, Amanda."

Amanda knew the syringe was going into her arm one way or another. She met his gaze, her eyes hardening. Her throat was dry, her voice sounding as if it were coming through a muffled blanket. "You may be having trouble finding someone to do this, but chup you, Datak." This time, she didn't feel the prick of the needle at all, but she did feel the heat in her arm escalate once more, and the floor rising to meet her as her head fell. A low sound echoed off the walls, and only after a few seconds did she realize it was the sound of her own voice, a low, pained groan.

Datak's blurred in front of her, but she heard his voice float somewhere in the middle of her head. She welcomed the idea of unconsciousness, but Datak seemed to know the precise levels for keeping her awake and very cognizant of the pain. "I should spill your boiling blood all over this floor," he said, anger percolating dangerously beneath his voice. "But, I don't need the Earth Republic traipsing into town wondering why our beloved Mayor has met an untimely death. My wife, however, is my own property. I can do with her what I like." He moved to the bag again, taking out another dose of ensanguine, prompting his guard to call out to him.

"Boss, three doses is max for a woman. You don't - "

"Shut your shtakhole," Datak reprimanded, suctioning the liquid into the hollow core. "We'll be here as long as it takes. I've got enough doses in here to keep Ms. Rosewater warm for hours." He laid the syringe on her arm, right along the vein, but didn't puncture it, leaving it as a reminder of what was to come.

"I tried to convince Stahma to turn you over to the E-Reps, Datak." Amanda's words were broken with measured pants, her tongue swollen and parched. "She wouldn't do it."

Datak smiled at her effort. "And why do you think that is, Amanda? That at the end of everything, she decided to come back to me?" He peered at her, testing her, requiring an answer. When she didn't respond right away, he pricked her arm again, but didn't press down on the barrel. "Why?"

A response retched its way up Amanda's throat, her voice barely above a whisper. "She loves you."

"What a lovely human construct, this idea of love," Datak bellowed, gesturing grandly in the air. He leaned down to her. "Tell me, Amanda, do you think my wife loves you?"

If she had been in less pain, she may have given him a quick, strategic "No," but in her current state she was unable to think so quickly, and once again, her silence betrayed her.

Datak moved quickly, and Amanda felt a quick rip in her arm, saw a flash of grey, then felt the wrench of her hair as he pulled her head back. The next moment brought a stabbed flash of fire in her neck. Amanda bit her lip in pain, this time tasting blood. Every beat of her heart was just another radiating burn, and she half wished for it to simply stop beating, if only to stop the pain. Sweat stung her eyes, but she saw nothing, her vision blurred.

Datak took a knife from the holster at his waist, jerking roughly through the duct tape at her ankles. Amanda wanted to kick him, but she couldn't command her legs over the fire running through them. He ripped jaggedly through the tape at her wrists and lower arms, and leaned over her, testing her to reach out and harm him in some way. Instead, her head lolled forward, and he placed the knife at her chin, lifting her gaze to him. "Love is overrated. I prefer fear. You call off your Lawkeeper on this investigation into the mines. You hand over the key. And my wife may see her son's next Name Day. You don't cooperate by the end of the week, she won't be so fortunate." He dropped the knife back at his side. "We're done here," he announced, motioning the two men over to him.

A hand pulled her upwards, and Amanda tried to get her feet steady under her, this time glad for the arms dragging her out of the building. As they pushed her back into her roller, she welcomed the darkness, wishing the blackness of the night would somehow take over her mind. Instead, all she got was a blinding, blue red fire behind her eyes.

* * *

Kenya had lost interest in the book she was reading, and her escalating hunger propelled her to the kitchen, ready to sit down to meal she had prepared, whether Amanda was there or not. She cursed her sister under her breath for staying so late at the Darby building, which was a trick Kenya normally pulled, although she couldn't remember the last time she had worked out of an office. She rummaged through the drawers of Amanda's makeshift bar, searching for a bottle opener for the Scotch she'd brought from the bar. Her hands brushed over a small photo, and she plucked it out from underneath a few random trinkets. Over the years, she had committed most of their leftover photos to memory, but this one she didn't recognize. She and Amanda were having a fantastic time at some outdoor playground, the two of them standing in front of a swing set, their hair mussed, a slight sheen to their skin. One edge of the photograph was torn, and as Kenya peered closer, she caught a glimpse of an arm wrapped around Amanda's waist. Kenya recognized the painted nails, remembered pressing her own fingertips on top of those nails as a child, amazed that her mother's nails were a different color than her own. The ripped edge threw her, and she scrunched her nose in confusion, searching the drawer for the other half of it, as if it had accidentally been ripped off. But, somehow, Kenya knew she wouldn't find it.

Outside, she heard the crunch of loose gravel outside the kitchen window and she laid the picture on the counter, a visual reminder to ask her sister about it. A roller door slammed, and then another, followed by footsteps and something prickled in the back of Kenya's brain, a cautionary alert as she headed to the back door, yanking it open and flipping on the porch light, bathing the drive in low, dim light. Another roller peeled away from the curb, its lights off, but Amanda's roller was still in the drive, and she caught a glimpse of her sister's blonde head in the passenger's seat.

Kenya took a step towards the vehicle, ready to greet her with a reprimand. "Tell me you were out getting - " she stopped short as the door opened and Amanda stumbled out of it. Whatever alarm had prickled earlier now went into full blaze, and she ran the few feet toward the roller. "Bee?" Kenya called. Even in the low light, Kenya could see the flush of Amanda's skin. She grabbed her arm, but jerked her hand away with a surprised yelp, the flushed skin burning her fingers. Throwing an arm around her neck anyway, she helped Amanda inside, settling her into the closest chair. Her braid had come loose, with only a few strands left in tact, her bangs matted against her forehead. Her face was feverish, a deep redness descending underneath her damp, sweat-soaked shirt. "Shtako, Amanda," Kenya said, running over to the sink and wetting a towel with cold water. "Who the hell gave you ensanguine?"

The sound of running water flooded Amanda's consciousness, and she wasn't sure if she said the word, or merely mouthed it, but Kenya brought her a cup of water, guiding it to her lips. It did nothing to calm the burning sensation inside her body, but it felt good against her throat nonetheless, and she gulped it down, wanting more. Kenya refilled the glass and came back with a towel wrapped around several ice cubes, but Amanda's skin melted it immediately.

"I'm calling Doc," Kenya said, but Amanda flailed out at her.

"No. I'll be okay, Mouse," she assured her, still playing the role of older sister. "It just needs to run its course."

"Who did this to you?" Kenya asked, confusion and worry making her voice waver.

Amanda was a skilled enough politician to know the difference between a question she could answer and one that she wanted to answer, even in her pained haze, but she could only muster a shake of her head. "I don't know," she said, her words slurring.

Kenya didn't buy it. "You don't know? You don't know who put a toxic chemical into bloodstream?" Even the attempt at chastisement didn't ease the fear waffling up in the back of Kenya's throat. "Come on, we need to get you into a bath." She remembered the effects of ensanguine from the Pale Wars, when she'd watched as a man lay writhing on the ground, covering himself in mud in attempt to cool off his burning body. In those times, it had been Amanda that had kept them both safe, kept them from harm, leaving Kenya with little experience in protecting her older sister. Amanda was heavy on Kenya's shoulder as they walked to the bathroom, her feet dragging beneath her. Kenya flipped on the faucet, turning the handle to the coldest setting, but then changed her mind. As hot as Amanda's skin was, anything too frigid could send her into shock. She turned the dial a little more to the left.

Amanda slumped onto the bathroom counter, her fingers fumbling clumsily at her shirt, and she managed to wrench the drenched material over her head. Her normally pale skin was flushed a deep red, but, purple bruises ran across her stomach. Kenya didn't comment on them, and instead helped peel off the rest of the sweat-stained clothes, down to the sopping wet socks that encased her feet. The tub was only a third of the way full, but she eased Amanda into the water, helping her rest her head against the back ledge. She used her fingers to run water over her shoulders; it was only then that she noticed her own hands were shaking.

Amanda moaned as she settled into the water, but despite the coolness of the water, her insides still felt as if they were kindling, only igniting the fire further. Something hot and warm ran from her nose, pooling at her upper lip, but it wasn't salt and sweat that she tasted, but iron. As Kenya wiped the wet cloth over her again, Amanda caught the stain of blood on the fabric. "I'll be okay," she tried again, but this time she wasn't sure if her words made it outside of her head.

Kenya dropped the cloth and ran for her hailer, her heart pounding in step with her frantic steps along the hardwood. By the time she made it back to the bathroom, Doc answered, her voice just as terse as usual. Kenya almost didn't recognize the high pitch of her own voice, or the way it wavered as she explained as much as she could, one hand still moving the wet towel over Amanda's forehead. Hanging up, she dipped her fingers back into the water, which was now lukewarm, and only getting hotter, warmed by her sister's boiling body. A trail of blood trickled from Amanda's ear, and Kenya wiped it away hastily, as if by making it disappear, it would make her sister better.

Kenya unplugged the drain, running cold water in the tub once again, grateful that the splash covered up the sob that bubbled from her throat. Amanda's eyes were bloodshot, red streaks twining across them, her eyes filmy, but they found Kenya's, and she half-nodded, half shook her head, her lips moving faintly. No sound came from them, but Kenya didn't need any. She simply nodded, running the washcloth over Amanda's head once more. "I know, Bee," she said. "You'll be okay. You're always okay."

For the first time in her life, though, she wasn't so sure.

* * *

Stahma searched through her bathroom, pulling out a pair of small scissors from a bag that sat underneath the sink. Time was now the enemy, and although she had no idea how much of it had passed, she wasn't going to wait for fate to give her an opportunity to leave. She was going to take it. Tucking the scissors into her palm, she headed for the bedroom door, stopping for a moment to pinpoint the sound of the guard's boots along the first floor, still marking his same, unvaried path. After the altercation in the garden with Nolan, clearly this particular lackey was intent on proving himself to Datak once again, his vigilance a mark of repentance.

Edging carefully down the stairs, squeezing the only weapon she had, Stahma crept silently along the wall. The guard's back was visible as he navigated the front hallway, keeping the door and the entryway to the patio in his line of sight. A flurry of white passed underneath the stairwell and a moment later Ashma was ascending them, her eyes widening at the sight of her mistress. She continued to climb the stairs, keeping her surprise quiet, motioning Stahma back up.

"Did he drink it?" Stahma whispered, the words snapping out of her.

"Only a few moments ago," Ashma whispered back. "You need to go back upstairs until it hits."

"Did he drink all of it?"

"It appeared so. His glass was empty." Ashma peered back down the stairwell, where the guard's boots were just visible in the slice of hallway. "Stahma - " she seemed to recognize her mistake, adopting her more formal title - "Mrs. Tarr, please. Go back upstairs until - "

She didn't finish, cut off by the sound of a repetitive clank, like a top spinning, followed by a shattering of glass and a loud thud. Stahma rushed past Ashma, moving down into the foyer, her scissors still burning in the palm of her hand. The guard was on the ground, his hand stretched behind his head like a sleeping giant. As she bent over him, noting his steady breathing, she grabbed his roller keys from the belt at his waist. Her own hailer was tucked into the belt as well, and she snatched it, searching the screen for any sign that Amanda had gotten her message. Instead, only a blank screen stared up at her.

"Amanda didn't call back," Ashma said softly, coming up behind her, reading the slump of Stahma's shoulders.

Stahma stood, not answering. "You should go home," she said, her voice rushed. "There is no need for you to risk staying here. You've done more than enough."

"What if he wakes up?" Ashma pointed at the drugged guard. "And notifies Datak?"

"He will be out until morning, if he took the entire dose." Stahma's voice was more confident than she felt, but her only goal was to get to Amanda, to see her with her own eyes.

Ashma shook her head, picking up on her doubt. "Datak will not return until morning. I will stay here. If this one so much as stirs, I'll... I'll figure something out." She looked just as unsure as Stahma felt, but her eyes held only a confident resolve, as if this particular taste of freedom was her very own.

Stahma didn't have any more time to waste, but she paused long enough to touch Ashma's hand, giving her a solemn, grateful nod. "I will repay you," she said, turning, giving her one last look before slipping out of the door. The night was darker than usual, even with the dim light of the moon, the blackness blanketing her as coldly and as effectively as her own fear.

* * *

Thanks for reading - I love hearing from you all!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Oh, shtako."

Doc hadn't expected the best of circumstances when Kenya opened the door, her narrow shoulders harnessing an anxious energy that bordered on full-fledged panic, and her assumptions had only worsened as Kenya lead her toward the bathroom. Amanda sat in the tub, her head lolled against the edge, her skin such a deep red that it gave off a purplish hue, a sign that the ensanguine had depleted much of the oxygen in her blood. As far as upsides went, the only one presenting itself to Doc was that Amanda wasn't dead. Yet. She dropped the black medical case she carried and bent down towards the bathtub, Amanda's heavy-lidded eyes blinking weakly up at her. "What's her temperature?"

"At least one hundred and six," Kenya replied, picking up the useless thermometer she had found in the medicine cabinet and tossing it into the sink. "That's as far as this thing goes." She hugged one arm around her waist, pressing her thumb nervously against her lower lip. "She's been in and out since I got off the phone with you."

Doc peered back at Amanda, her tone more casual than her narrowed gaze. "What did you do, hook yourself up to an ensanguine IV?"

Kenya peered over Doc's shoulder, not expecting Amanda to respond. She had gone quiet, even her moans dissipating into sporadic, body-shaking shivers, despite her rising temperature. Doc reached into the water, picking up a hot, limp arm and studied several elliptical discolorations, small circles of blue amidst the red heat. "Oh, shtako," she said again. "Help me get her out of the tub."

"She's more comfortable in cold water," Kenya protested, not wanting to do anything to reignite Amanda's moans.

"She'll be even more comfortable if she's not dead." Doc stood, moving to place two hands under Amanda's arms. "Her vessels are beginning to burst, which means her oxygen is getting low. I need you to help me move her to the bed."

Kenya needed no more explanation than that, and the two lifted Amanda out of the tub, a feat made more difficult by the slickness of her wet skin and its still searing heat. "The guest bedroom, across the hall," Kenya directed, her hands slipping along the surface of Amanda's legs. They maneuvered her onto the bed, and Kenya got a full on glimpse of the small, elongated bruises that piqued Doc's concern, now spotting along Amanda's legs, in addition to her arms. As Doc focused on the shoe-sized bruises along Amanda's ribcage, Kenya backed into the hallway, taking a moment to lean against the wall, if only to keep the floor from swaying under her feet. She closed her eyes, clutching at the small necklace around her neck, the one Amanda had given her so many years ago. Its surface had been worn over the years with the contours of her own hand, her life having given her many reasons to reach up and clutch it. She pressed her lips against it and kept moving, retrieving a sheet from the hall closet. She dunked it into the bath tub, ringing out the water before moving back to the bedroom and draping it over Amanda, pressing the cool cloth against her skin.

"She had to have had more than three doses," Doc said, placing a small oxygen mask over Amanda's nose and mouth. "I'm going to need to drain her."

"Drain her?" Kenya repeated, not liking the sound of it.

"A reverse transfusion of sorts. I need to get some of the bad blood out of her." Doc ripped open the case she brought with her, pulling out a small, empty plastic bag with a tube of plastic piping attached to it. She attached a small syringe to the tube and reached for Amanda's left arm, turning it so that she could find a vein, her thumb rubbing over the prominent blue lines that seemed to percolate just underneath the skin. The touch, however, ignited an instinctual response in Amanda, and she jerked her arm, suddenly and violently, wrenching away, her legs kicking the air at the end of the bed.

"Bee, hang on," Kenya said soothingly, placing a calming hand on her sister's shoulder. "We're just trying to get some of that bad blood out to make the burning stop. Vampire Doc is trying to help, okay?"

Doc rolled her eyes at the remark, but Kenya's voice did calm Amanda long enough for her to find a vein, and a thin, steady line of blood shot its way from her arm to the plastic bag. It would take at least a couple of pints to recalibrate the toxins in her body, and if it took anymore than that, they'd have to make a trip to the office. Performing such a rare procedure did have its thrills, but Doc enjoyed her sleep, and she was hoping whatever she managed to drain would be enough to forestall any worst case scenario. The past few weeks had given her enough excitement.

Amanda's eyes fluttered to the bag at her side, her own blood coating the inside of it, and for the first time since she stumbled into the house, Kenya saw a pin of alertness pricking through the fog of pain. Doc saw it, too, and leaned forward. "I'm not taking much. Just enough to get your body to produce more blood cells. The rest of the ensanguine is going to have to burn itself out." She looked up at Kenya. "Does she have any juice in the refrigerator? I need something to tide her over until I can get a saline drip in her."

"She's not big on mixers," Kenya answered wryly, but the attempt at humor didn't make her feel better, and she moved off the bed and walked into the kitchen, the floor cool beneath her bare feet. In the back of the refrigerator she found a bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a whiff of it, although juice a little past its expiration date was the least of her worries. She turned, and her eye caught the photograph that she laid down on the counter earlier, before the night had been ripped out from underneath her. For a horrible, fleeting moment, Kenya imagined the jagged, ripped edge engulfing her sister as well, and a wave of nausea rocked through her, forcing her to balance with both hands on the counter.

A faint sound of an engine echoed outside, Kenya barely registering it until it seemed to creep closer, then completely disappeared, as if someone had killed the engine. She peered out of the kitchen window, the dim light by the back door illuminating only the empty driveway. Despite the stillness outside, anxiety flinted at the back of her mind, igniting into a full flame of paranoia. She made a direct path through the living room, to the antique table by the front door, yanking open the top drawer. Sure enough, the small, wooden box still sat at the back of the drawer, and Kenya wrenched it open, gingerly pulling out the small gun, heavy despite the fact that it was barely bigger than the palm of her hand. It wouldn't do much damage from more than a couple of yards, but it gave her some semblance of control. Unlocking the safety, she tiptoed to the front door, peeking out of a slice of window and seeing nothing. The street outside was just as empty as the driveway at the back of the house. "You're paranoid, Kenya," she muttered, only half registering the fact that she was now not only paranoid, but also talking to herself. She reached for her phone, tucked inside the pocket of the sweater she wore, dialing the one person that she should have dialed over an hour ago.

Nolan picked up on the first ring. "Well, this is my favorite kind of phone call."

"I need you to come to Amanda's."

A thoughtful pause. "I don't get between sisters. Too messy."

Any other time, Kenya would have chastised him, or at least placated him with a laugh, but her humor had seeped out of her over the course of the night, leaving only bare emotion. "Amanda's been hurt. Someone gave her a load of ensanguine. Just get here."

This time there was no pause. "I'm on my way." Kenya could already hear Nolan moving, his voice muffled, as if pulling on a shirt over his head. She hung up, her paranoia already eased by the sound of a voice she could trust. That ease ended with a noise in the kitchen, the sound of the back door opening, a familiar, prolonged creak that Kenya recognized immediately. She raised the gun, creeping down the hallway, sure that the sound of her beating pulse was making much more noise than any movement from the intruder. As she peered into the kitchen, a flash of white startled her. She moved without thinking, ramming a body against the wall, slamming her free arm across its neck. She pointed the gun at a pale, white chin, recognition only seeping into her after a few tense seconds. "What the chup are you doing here?"

"Wait - " Stahma began, but Kenya's arm pressed harder against her throat, stifling the words. Stahma's eyes bulged, and she held up both hands in front of her, not wanting to upset the gun angled at her jaw. "Please," she tried again, dangling the key from her fingers. "Amanda gave me this. I only used it because I can't reach her on her hailer." She closed her eyes, swallowing. "Please tell me she's here."

Kenya's arm didn't relax, confusion flashing through her eyes. She made no move to take the key. "What the hell are you talking about?"

For a moment, Stahma's heart sank. "She is here, isn't she? He wouldn't have - "

"Who wouldn't have what?" Kenya asked lowly, not giving Stahma time to answer before nudging the gun further into her chin. "Did Datak do this? Did your husband do this to her?" She was well aware of Datak's distaste for her sister and for the Council, and she recalled Amanda's appearance in her apartment that morning. It seemed like ages had passed since then. "Is this about that Birch guy?"

"In some regard, yes," Stahma replied, her voice thin as she struggled for air. "I tried to warn Amanda. Her hailer – I couldn't reach her in time." For a second, the pressure on her neck eased, but Stahma didn't move, locked into place like an animal that knew it was prey.

"Sit," Kenya commanded, releasing Stahma's throat and gesturing toward a kitchen chair. Her blue eyes were dark in the low light of the kitchen, as round and as menacing as the black barrel of the gun.

"Kenya - "

"Sit!" Kenya yelled, the gun shaking. Stahma obeyed, if only to prevent it from going off by accident. Kenya was in full protection mode, which meant Amanda had to be somewhere in the house, but it also meant that whatever Datak had done to her, he had completely incapacitated her. "Lawkeeper Nolan is on his way here right now," Kenya continued, her voice humming with fear. "I suggest you start giving me reasons not to have him ship you off to lock-up." The smell of roasted carrots still faintly permeated the kitchen, and Kenya wanted nothing more than to simply sit down at a table with Amanda, a bottle of scotch between them. Having Stahma show up unexpectedly, carrying a key to her sister's home, was only veering her more off course. "Start chupping talking, Stahma."

Aware that the truth was the only barrier of protection she could muster, Stahma began, her voice low and quiet, but hurried. "Your sister and I have been... spending some time together. Datak found out about our indiscretions, somehow - "

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshtako, yes you do."

"I don't know," Stahma said again, this time an edge of a plea in her voice. "Possibly Nicky, but I can't be sure. I didn't tell him anything. I only wanted to warn Amanda."

"It's a little late for that, isn't it?"

"I tried," Stahma pleaded. "You can check my hailer, and see for yourself." She closed her eyes, but thought better of it, opening them after a moment and eyeing the gun instead. "Please let me see her."

"If she was even conscious, what the hell makes you think she would want to see you?"

"I wanted to warn her. I couldn't get away from the house, but I tried to warn her."

Kenya's gaze drifted to the bruises around Stahma's neck, which matched a trail of bruises along her lower jaw. The corner of her lower lip was plump and swollen, and for a moment, the gun faltered. "Amanda never said anything to me about the two of you."

The light in the room flicked on, blinking to its full brightness and Doc appeared in the doorway, a brief arch of her eyebrows the only emotion she showed as she caught sight of Stahma at the kitchen table. "I don't meant to disturb your tea party," she said, picking up the container of juice off the counter.

Stahma fought the urge to rise from her chair, wanting to follow Doc back to Amanda, her mind whirling with the possible heinous acts her husband could have committed. "What happened to her?" she asked. "Tell me she is okay."

"Let's just say, her blood is boiling," Doc replied easily, but her tone carried the slightest protective lilt as she stared down at Stahma. Her connection to patients was tethered solely by their condition, and she didn't appreciate being disturbed, especially by those who may have had something to do with the condition in the first place.

Stahma made the connection immediately. "Ensanguine?" she asked, her throat closing around the word. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, locking her fingers together so hard that they hurt. She cursed Datak, mouthing the words of a vengeful prayer, but it did nothing to calm the fear riddling along in her stomach. If Amanda had been Castithan, or hadn't held the title of Mayor, Datak would have most certainly killed her. And Stahma knew that, knew the price of their affair long before she entered into it; she was just as much to blame, had just as much a hand in poisoning Amanda as her husband did. "Can I see her?"

Doc glanced at Kenya. "Why don't you ask the woman with the gun."

Kenya still held the weapon at her side, but she turned to Doc, her anger subsiding, replaced with the fear of a younger sister. "Did draining her help?"

"The bruising didn't get any worse, and her temperature is down a couple of degrees. On the bright side, the pain finally knocked her out."

Stahma glanced at the window behind the kitchen sink, the same window that she had peered out of only a day before, and locked onto the small, green plant that sat on the sill. "Angelica flower," she said, pointing to it. "That, along with some loci oil will help draw out the fever and cool her down. It seeps into the skin."

"We've passed the alternative medicine stage," Doc deadpanned.

Stahma eyed her sharply, her own eyes as fiercely protective as Kenya's. "It will help," she insisted. "It will at least give the sensation of drawing out the pain. Your own doctors used it in the last plague." She glanced at Kenya. "You don't have to let me see her, but at least let me make it for her."

Doc rolled her eyes. "Should I abort the saline drip I just hooked into her or will your bouquet of cures cover that, too?"

Kenya stared down at Stahma, something other than fear now talking through her. "Make it. Tonight, we're going with plans A, B, and C. Whatever works."

"Plan C, for crazy," Doc murmured, taking the juice and leaving them behind.

Stahma eyed the gun, but Kenya kept it angled at the floor. She moved carefully out of her seat, aware of the half-accusing eyes on her back as she plucked several leaves off the plant. Retrieving a small clay bowl from the upper cabinet, she dropped the leaves in, and poured a small drizzle of water into it, crushing the leaves with a small pestle. Loci oil, she knew from her explorations, was in the cabinet by the refrigerator, the one just above the toaster. She poured a few drops into the angelica concoction, the mixing of the two bringing out a strong, minty aroma.

Kenya watched, perplexed by how expertly Stahma commanded the kitchen, and she wondered just how many times she had been there, and how long her sister had been sleeping with this woman. "Amanda never mentioned any of this to me," she said again.

"For awhile there was nothing to tell," Stahma answered, the repetitive motion of the pestle, the scrape of it against the porcelain, helping to focus her thoughts.

"And then what?"

"And then..." Stahma trailed off, words failing to come to her as she ground the leaves along with the oil. "Our feelings changed. But the circumstances around us didn't."

Kenya let the words sink in, the meaning of them burning, as if they were tainted with ensanguine, too. Amanda was a pragmatist, a woman whose emotion only tended to reveal itself after a couple of glasses of Scotch. She would have known better than to directly challenge a Castithan man by engaging his wife. Better yet, Stahma knew the circumstances as well. She studied the rigidness of Stahma's shoulders, and imagined the fear that coursed through them, but squeezed any tinge of sympathy from her tone. "What will Datak do to you?"

Stahma's steady hand stalled for a moment. "He's already done his worst." As she turned, her eyes caught the photograph on the counter, recognizing the pair of young sisters, but Kenya snatched it before she could say anything about it. Amanda may not have held back with Stahma, but Kenya wasn't about to open up to her. A loud pounding against the back door startled both of them, but Kenya recovered quickly, spying Nolan's shape through the peephole and unlatching the door. He barreled through it, his usual uniform still on, cargo pants and jacket, but his hair was ruffled. His eyes immediately caught sight of Stahma, who stood against the counter. He didn't seem nearly as surprised to see her there as Kenya had.

"What the hell happened?"

Kenya glanced back at Stahma. "Why don't you ask her. I'm going to check on Amanda."

As she turned, Stahma slid the bowl of angelica oil over to her. "Here. Rub this along her pulse points and at the bottoms of her feet. It should help with the pain."

Kenya glanced at the bowl, then back up at Stahma, her defenses lowering long enough to utter a quiet thanks before walking back to the bedroom, leaving Nolan and Stahma to share a stony, uncomfortable silence. Stahma stared after her, desperately wanting to follow, but she knew Nolan was quick to draw his weapon, and she was in no way equipped to test his temper tonight.

"What the chup are you trying to pull?" Nolan took a heavy step towards her, but she stood her ground, looking back at him.

"I know how this appears, Nolan, but I swear that I told Datak nothing. Nothing about the key and nothing about - " the words failed her, guilt catching in her throat.

"Nothing about what?" Nolan pressed. "Nothing about the game of pussy and mouse the two of you are playing?" He his head, unsure of whether to be concerned for Amanda, or downright angry at her for behaving so recklessly. There were plenty of women to mess around with, but he had learned over the course of his time on new Earth that the surest way to welcome pain into your life was to mess around with a married Castithan woman. "You didn't think Datak might be a little upset if he ever found out about the two of you?"

"It's easy to control the mind. It's not so easy to control the heart."

Nolan rolled his eyes. "Well, now it's my job to control the situation. I should take your husband into the Western prison right now, forego the lockup completely. But, there's a part of me that's very curious what he'll do to you."

"There's a part of me that would gladly let you take him there," Stahma replied, the weight of the truth heavy on her shoulders. "But, you know you can't do that."

"Ah, here it comes," Nolan said, nodding. "The part where you go back to protecting your husband."

"If you arrest him, you risk upsetting every Castithan in Defiance," she reminded him, letting his contempt slide past her. "Not only Datak's entire army in the Hollows, but every rationally-minded Castithan who still abides by the norms of our culture. Datak acted in a way consistent with the tenets of our faith, and if you tamper with that, you tamper with the norms of this town." The words were hollow, as if the marrow had been sucked out of them, unable to sustain her. She believed them, but they disgusted her, even as she uttered them. On Casti, she wouldn't have given a second thought to the punishment her husband doled out for such behavior, but as much as her kind had changed this new planet, it had also changed her.

"You don't give a shtako about Amanda," Nolan rebutted. "Not in any goddamn way that matters. If that was true, you never would have let things get this far."

The pride that she usually carried so squarely on her shoulders was gone, and Stahma merely turned her gaze to the floor and allowed the words to sink into her like tiny hooks, piercing whatever resolve had lead her back to Amanda. If anything, her presence was putting both of them even more at risk, and for what? For some selfish need to ease her own conscience? Still, she didn't like the way Nolan challenged her. "And as Lawkeeper, you should have never let Mayor Riordan and Birch get this far, either."

The remark quieted him, pricking at his own guilt, which had nicked at him on the ride over. Amanda had taken a chance on him, and it had gotten her nowhere. "Riordan and Birch want the artifact, and this was one way to get it, wasn't it? To betray your affair to Datak and let him go after her. Let's just hope Amanda didn't give him anything."

"She wouldn't do that."

"Still don't see it, do you?" he asked, leaning forward, somewhat amused by her blindess. "You make her vulnerable. And Datak knows that. If he let the both of you live, it was for a reason. He ain't finished yet, darlin'."

She had come across many humans who thought they understood the values of the Castithan race, but this understanding was merely a mask for hatred. It was easy to vilify a people when their traditions differed so greatly from one's own. Stahma knew this. Datak was intent on preserving the rituals of their homeland, despite the fact that this new world didn't welcome them, but their relationship was complicated, to say the least. It had been since the first moment they met, and the two of them had been tacitly breaking some of the most important part of their traditions for years, even if they didn't speak of it. Whatever Nolan thought he understood about their marriage, he was mistaken. "I know how to handle Datak."

"Why didn't you handle him earlier, then?"

Her memory rocked back to the bath, the feel of Datak's hand on her neck. "I tried."

"If he follows you here, I'm taking him in. I'll turn him over to the E-Reps just as fast as I'll turn over Nicky and Birch."

"He won't follow me." Stahma knew that much. Many would mistake Datak's actions for mere anger, or a need to be in control, but she knew better: she had hurt him. Her betrayal, and the fact that she had satiated some need outside of their marriage without telling him, had stung something deep inside him. In less than a fortnight, she had managed to destroy the two people, aside from Alak, that she had cared about most.

"Burning Beauty is awake," Doc announced, returning to the kitchen and refilling a glass with water. "In pain, and still as stubborn as always, but awake."

This time, Stahma didn't make a move toward the hallway, guilt melting her in place. Nolan gestured past her, giving her a look meant to cut. "By all means, Mrs. Tarr. Let's go see exactly how much damage your husband has done." He waited for her to go first, and Stahma didn't have to look back at him to know that his hand perched just above his gun holster, but his lack of trust was the least of her worries. She followed Doc toward the bedroom, where Kenya's voice floated out to them.

"Amanda, for my sake, please just lay back down and get some rest. You can barely sit up." She was tying a robe around Amanda's torso as they stepped into the room. Stahma recognized it as the same one she had worn less than a day earlier, but the gaunt figure wearing it was not the same Amanda that permeated her thoughts. She was familiar with the effects of ensanguine, had even heard of her husband's own use of the drug during his bouts at the Hollows, but that knowledge did nothing to prepare her to see Amanda in such a weakened state. Her normally healthy skin was pale, but still sheened with a layer of beaded sweat, her eyes bloodshot, the bags underneath them making her appear skeletal and almost ghostlike.

"Down, human." Doc reprimanded Amanda, extending the glass of water towards her. "I didn't wrap those ribs of your so that you could jostle them around."

Amanda reached for the glass, but her hand stopped shakily in midair as she caught sight of Stahma. For the first time, she was conscious of something other than pain, and a bloom of relief swelled in her chest, popping with a slow, controlled sigh. "Are you okay?" Her throat was still scratchy, her voice sounding muffled inside her own head, and for a moment she wondered if the words carried to the other side of the room, where Stahma stood, unmoving, her eyes unreadable.

Stahma had prepared herself for anger, or at the very least, mistrust, and the blatant concern in Amanda's eyes caught her off guard. She couldn't speak, her heart seeming to break open and flood her chest. She managed what felt like a nod, but she didn't know if her head had actually moved. All she knew was that the ground beneath her feet suddenly felt less solid. The idea of running toward Amanda ran through her head, but something, perhaps it was fear, kept her rooted in place, unable to embrace the woman she had gone through so much to see again.

Amanda didn't take her eyes off of her. "Will you guys just give Stahma and me a minute alone?"

"Isn't that what got you into this trouble in the first place?" Doc asked, but shrugged. "Fine. Just don't mess up the saline drip." She walked out, leaving Kenya and Nolan behind, who appeared as if they weren't going to give up so easily.

Amanda looked over at her sister, who still sat beside her, a protective, calming hand on her forearm. "Mouse." Amanda grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and pressing her lips against the knuckles. "I told you I'd be okay, didn't I?'

"Don't be such a chupping know-it-all," Kenya muttered, brushing a wet strand of hair off of Amanda's forehead and stealing a glance at Stahma. "I think you should be resting. There will be time for everything else later."

Amanda may have been weakened, her brain more occupied with the dull ache still running through her body than with anything else, but she was aware that she and Stahma were now on borrowed time. "No, there's not," she said, her eyes filled with an empty sadness that Kenya knew had everything to do with the woman still standing, statue-still, by the doorway. She nodded slowly, rising from the bed, grabbing Nolan's bicep as she passed, a tacit beckoning to follow her. Nolan, however, stood in place, crossing both arms across his chest and prompting Amanda to look over at him. She barely had the strength to summon anything remotely resembling authority, but tried anyway. "Nolan."

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "Do you realize how stupid both of you are? That whatever hand up we had on Nicky and Birch is gone now, because the two of you couldn't keep your panties cool enough?"

Kenya pulled at Nolan's arm again. "Hey," she said softly, but her tone carried a warning. "This isn't the time."

Amanda stared darkly at him as she sat straighter along the bed, her feet touching the floor, a hand on each side of her helping her balance, but she felt a wave of weakness that almost sent reeling back against her pillows. "I will fix this."

"You'll fix it?" Nolan asked disbelievingly, a grin on his face that covered his anger, which, if he had been alone, would have only been addressed at himself, but now, in Amanda, he had an outlet. "How's that? You got a time machine?" He glanced at Stahma, jerking a finger at her. "Does she have a time machine? Because that's about the only way you're going to fix this."

Amanda recognized the outburst for what it was: some way to regain a hold of a situation that had completely spiraled out of control. She couldn't blame him. Still, her exhaustion, fear, and pride buttressed her against him, and she steeled her gaze at him as she reached over and grabbed the empty juice cup on the night stand. "While you're out there _chupping_ yourself, get me some more juice. With Scotch." She raised the glass at him, daring him to do anything other than grant her request.

Nolan stayed silent for a few moments, staring back at her, but he eventually moved forward, taking the glass from her, which amounted to some sort of unspoken apology, before placing his hand at the small of Kenya's back, guiding her out of the room. Stahma stayed in place, still seemingly frozen. Her eyes found Amanda again, but she couldn't move forward. The weakness, the pain, the pale gaze, it all stemmed from her: she was the cause.

"Stahma?" Amanda tried, managing what felt like a small smile. "I promise I won't bite. Or burn." She swallowed, her tone gentle. "Come here."

Another moment passed before Stahma lurched forward, crossing the room in two quick strides and falling to her knees in front of Amanda, pressing her head into her lap. She mumbled something her thigh, but the words were muffled. Amanda lifted her chin, recognizing the Castithan redemption prayer that she had seen recited before, mostly before a ritual cleansing practice, those that came off more like torture than redemption. In a brief flash of irony, she wondered why Datak hadn't made her recite such a prayer before he ensanguined her. "No," she said calmly, pressing a finger over Stahma's lips. "I've had enough redemption for one night, okay?"

Stahma seemed lost, unsure of what to offer instead. "I'm sorry," she managed, and shook her head, her eyes glassy. "I didn't tell him. I don't know how it happened, but I tried to convince him I was only trying to get information from you. I couldn't fix it." Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched Amanda's thighs. "But I will."

Amanda didn't respond, instead taking in the flush of bruises along Stahma's neck and jaw, and the bright redness of her swollen lip. "We have to get you out of Defiance. I can arrange a roller and have Tommy escort you to the border."

Stahma peered up at her, understanding the concern, but she shook her head. "I can't leave."

"Stahma - "

You're still warm," Stahma observed as she got to her feet, the backs of her hands brushing across Amanda's cheeks before pushing her gently back against the pillows. She leaned forward, taking the wet cloth on the side table and pressing it against her forehead. Amanda closed her eyes, allowing the coolness to blanket her consciousness, but only for a few seconds.

"Datak will kill you, Stahma. He's using you, only to get his hands on the artifact."

"Then he still needs me, doesn't he?" Stahma took Amanda's hands in her own, tracing the lines of her fingers. "Which means I can still help. I'm the closest connection you have to Nicky and Birch. If I can give Datak something to let him know I was in some way trying to help, to get information for him, then I can repent." Amanda averted her gaze, clenching her jaw, but Stahma continued. "You said yourself that Nicky and Birch are after Eighth Race Votech and that the artifact may be it. What does it do?"

"I don't know." Amanda attempted to rise again. "I need to talk to Doc."

"You need to rest. You hired a Lawkeeper for a reason. He will talk to her."

Amanda lay back, her eyes foggy from the medication that at least now could run unperturbed through her veins, dulling the subsisting ache. "I never dream about the Old World," she said softly, her eyes locked onto a place just beyond Stahma's head. "I used to try to force myself to dream about it by thinking about my parents, or Kenya, or the taste of soda or pop-tarts. I use to eat those as a kid." Her mind was becoming as foggy as her vision, and at least this time, she welcomed it. "It never worked. Maybe that girl, or that world, never really existed. That's easier, right? To not remember it? If I remembered all the good things from the old world, would I really work so hard to save this one?"

Stahma watched the heavy blink of Amanda's eyes, knowing that her five minutes, as well as their brief affair, was almost over. "We have a saying, in Castithan, that means, 'If you don't share, it dies'. It's one of the reasons you always hear Castithans speak about our home planet, and try to preserve our ways, even the poorer ones, with such zeal. Perhaps you just need someone to share in those memories." Even as she said it, she knew that she would not be that someone, her voice caught in the back of her throat, forcing her to take a breath.

"Are you telling me to find a nice boy, Stahma, and settle down?" Amanda's laugh came out as more of a sigh, but it still made Stahma smile, and she leaned over, pressing a kiss against her lips.

"Just rest, okay? You won't be useful to anyone if you don't."

"Promise me you'll stay here, Stahma. We can help you."

Stahma moved to the end of the bed, climbing on top of it and coming to rest beside Amanda, moving the cloth at her forehead long enough to place a kiss on her temple. "Promises are a human concoction."

Amanda closed her eyes. "Apparently so is love."

"We call it something different." Stahma placed her lips at Amanda's jaw, still catching some of her familiar scent. "But it feels the same." She moved the damp cloth to Amanda's temples, then her neck, then her wrists, interspersing the soothing cyle with light kisses against hot skin, keeping it up until she was the only one of the two of them still awake. She heard someone pass by the open bedroom door, but didn't bother to look back to see who it was, keeping her senses locked on Amanda: the warm feel of her skin, the sound of her low, steady breathing, the gentleness in her jaw as she slept. She stayed for a few more minutes before she crept off the bed.

Staying was a promise beyond her reach. But making sure that her husband never went near Amanda again, that was a promise she could keep, but she would need Nolan in order to do it.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


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